Short and Unique, but Not Magical
by Krackaroo21
Summary: After saving the dwarves from the Mirkwood spiders, Bilbo Baggins found himself in a different forest. Lost, hungry, and cold, he attempted to find the Company and the elves who took them. Meanwhile, Albus Dumbledore sensed the evil Bilbo brought with him. (I own nothing but this piece of writing)
1. How Many Wizards Are There?

**Hello! How are you? I hope you are smashing!**

 **Here is a silly idea I got. It has been done before (crossovers and the like) but it had not been done by me, so let's see what happens! I'm taking a new approach to this plot: I will follow a discovery plot line to see what I can do, instead of doing the entire plot all at once. It's adventurous, yes, but I'm going to do it!**

 **Enjoy!**

 **\--E--**

Fatigue and tree roots hindered his pace. If it were not for the ill Mirkwood trees blocking his path or the spine-snapping pain in his back, then he would have found the dwarves by now. As he trudged through dead bushes, he kept an eye out for any more spiders. There could be a few lurking still. But, with Sting drawn and the ring on, he searched for the others.

Time passed, the hot stones in his legs hardened into molten magma, and Bilbo soon spotted a huddle of dwarves in a clearing ahead -- right where he dropped them off. Relief graced him.

He climbed over exposed tree roots. "Hey! Over here!" he called, taking off the ring and storing it away. "I've found the sun! I know which way we need to-"

"There's one more!"

Before the dwarves could holler warnings, elven-guards rounded on the hobbit, bows and arrows drawn.

"Oh!" he gasped. But, before he could react to the blond elf charging toward him, before he could whip out the ring again, before he could attempt to fend off a rush of guards, before the flash of arrowheads blinded him, before he could curse himself and his foolishness, his leg gave out. He slipped off the tree root and fell over a small ledge -- one he had not noticed. His back slammed into the ground and dirt clung onto the sticky webbing of his waistcoat. Seconds later, the blond elf appeared over the ledge and ordered the others to retrieve him.

Bilbo was about to crawl away and slip the ring on, about to hid in the shadows and refuge under some overgrown mushrooms, but the earth beneath him was too soft; it crumbled and made him slide several feet down a steep hill -- one almost as steep as a wall. He did not notice it before, but now, unable to stop himself in time, he tumbled violently down the hillside. The trees spun in his vision and the ground jumped like flags in violent wind.

"Quickly!" the blond elf called to the others, racing down the hill. "Don't let him fall into the ravine!"

In the corner of his eye, Bilbo saw a black pit.

"Catch him! Get him before he reaches-"

The ground vanished; he screamed.

 **\--E--**

"I do believe it will rain tonight," the Headmaster of Hogwarts mused, gazing out the Great Hall's windows. "I remember Professor Trelawney predicting so and Professor Grubbly-Plank suggesting it too... besides, the atmosphere just feels it so."

"Things have been a little rainy now-and-days," Professor McGonagall commented, glancing at the pink woman down the teachers' table.

"True, true." He sipped his goblet calmly. "And yet I also think the clouds just feel somewhat wetter than normal. I do hope Hagrid is doing well right now, and even more so if it's raining in his part of the world-"

Everything pulsed.

He froze.

Dumbledore's senses drowned -- like he became deaf and blind, like the Great Hall melted away, like the world became larger and full of unknown malice. He felt it. A fresh concentration of darkness came into existence, like a drop of poison breaking still water, leaving ripples that he could not deny. Yet, it was incomprehensible compared to Lord Voldemort; it was something ancient, something more. And it was right next to Hogwarts.

McGonagall cleared her throat. "Headmaster?"

With one glance at Harry across the hall, Dumbledore knew he felt it too. The wrinkle on the young man's forehead and the red blooming around his scar proved it. They exchanged stares.

"Dumbledore?"

He looked at her. "Yes?"

"What was that? What happened?"

"I'm afraid I cannot elaborate," he said quickly, feeling the magical ripple fading. He had to find the source before it was lost. "If you'll excuse me, I need to poke around a bit outside. I think I left my telescope out there."

The Great Hall dropped in decibels the moment the Headmaster stood up and sped his way out, hurrying a little too fast for anyone to be at ease. Moments later, McGonagall and Snape excused themselves as well.

 **\--E--**

He walked for over an hour and the creaks in his body seemed permanent. When he fell, he guessed, he somehow did not die, but it left the ugliest bruise plastered on his back. Tender and throbbing, he was in no condition to wander through the forest, but he did. Where was he?

While he trekked, the forest became more and more wrong. It did not look like -- did not feel like -- Mirkwood. The trees were dark instead of ill, the ground was flat instead of twisting and distorted, and the moon pierced through the tangles of branches above -- night instead of day; all of this made him question where he was. Why did the decaying leaves felt so foreign?

"I'm not in the Shire, that's for sure," he muttered, hugging himself and holding onto any warmth left in his waistcoat. Perhaps he fell down the ravine and rolled off a hill onto a different forest, waking up when night fell. This had to be it, he thought. But, in any case, he needed to find the Company or, better yet, Gandalf. Finding the wizard would guarantee salvation.

Wolves howled in the distance and Bilbo picked up his pace. Hunger burned a hole through him and the cold froze his legs' flesh. Yet the unsettling forest urged him to move, to leave the forest's edge and regain himself. He continued along.

By the time his calves hardened into ice, the moon drifted through the branches and hid behind clouds: a rainstorm. He groaned when a drop splatted onto the crown of his head, wishing to be in Bag End again, to have a steaming cup, a warm hearth, and dinner rolls. He tried to persuade himself to take shelter under the upturned tree roots, trying to look passed the mud and cobwebs, but there were footsteps behind him. A twig snapped. The ring flew onto his finger.

Gray overtook the world and the trees became suggestions. The moment Bilbo spun around, he saw the footsteps: a man and a woman. He jumped behind a tree and peered around at the man -- greasy, black hair and a scowl-- and at the old woman, who wore an emerald cloak and hat. They both, he noted, held out polished sticks like they were weapons.

"Thought I saw something," the woman said, eyes surveying the trees.

"The magical disturbance is fading, just like he said, but I can feel it, if only barely," the man murmured, eyes shifting. "The magic is currently being used."

The woman took a step closer toward Bilbo's tree. "Yes, yes, I know. You don't need to tell me. I can feel it too, even if it is slight."

They got too close for Bilbo's liking -- close enough for him to see the detail of their scanning eyes and colorless faces. The ring made them look like ghosts. But, before they could sense him, with hobbit-quietness, he crept away. Raw toes over wet leaves. He would have gotten away if the man had not waved his stick and strode after him.

"I feel it," he said, eyes flashing at Bilbo as if he could see him. "The disturbance is invisible." He flicked his wrist and the hobbit felt his heels stuck to the chilled ground.

"I think I've gotten found it... but I am not certain. The magic is barely sensible."

"Careful, Severus," the woman warned.

Bilbo did not breathe, but he struggled to lift his feet up, struggling to move as the man closed in on him, the woman not far behind. He wanted to pull out Sting and protect himself, but that would make too much noise, too much risk. He needed to escape in stealth, but now he had to do the next best thing.

Calculating every movement, he picked up a stone from the ground, trusting the darkness to conceal it, and chucked it; it hit the man's hooked nose. The man yelled, stumbled back in surprise, and Bilbo's heels lost its pressure. He bolted.

Leaves exploded under his steps, the trees racing by. He kept running, forgetting about his abused legs, and even when something like lightning bolts flew passed him. Blue and white magic -- magic like Gandalf's fireworks -- lite the trees and dimmed.

"After it!" the woman yelled. "It's getting too close to-"

" _Confringo!_ "

Another lightning bolt appeared and nearly hit Bilbo's shoulder.

"No! We need to know of the disturbance first! He said it may be-"

The forest floor was gone. The hobbit yelped as he fell down a hill -- not as steep or violent as the one in Mirkwood, but enough to knock the air out of him and have leaves cling to his clothes. He rolled for what felt like a league and whiplash buzzed in his head once he hit the bottom. He groaned, but he rose up and ran, unsure if the man and woman still had his trail. Within seconds, he tripped over a ceramic pot and hit cobblestone.

"Wh-what's this?" he breathed, hot air flooding out in puffs. "Ow, my back..."

Above the pot shards, a village stood. Humble buildings and clean, shining streets. Reassurance welled inside him.

This, Bilbo knew, was the second best thing to find: a civilization of men. They could nourish him, warm him, inform him, and send him on his way back to the Company. Perhaps they were friends of the elves as well, he hoped. They could be advocates for him. Perhaps this village was as friendly as Bree.

After checking to see if the man and woman followed him, he got up and entered the village.

While he formed a plan, brushing the mud and leaves off his pants, fixing his matted hair -- the curls sprung back up -- and making sure his ring still concealed him, he traveled down the street, unseen by the few passing strangers. He had to find a tavern, someplace to warm up and dry. So far, there were only shops for quills and parchment, for robes, and for sweets. Their signs had strange fonts, but he read them without trouble.

He walked pass a gang of alley cats, who were sleeping in a pile underneath a porch, escaping the rains the best they could. And later, when he passed the post office, he was pleasantly surprised to find it full of sleeping owls: brown, white, and spotted. The orange street lamps highlighted their rising and falling bodies like potatoes bobbing in broth.

Eventually, in the thickest part of the storm, he found shelter: The Three Broomsticks.

Slipping off the ring and fixing himself to be presentable once more, he stepped inside: the smell of hot butterscotch and bread. A fireplace greeted him to his left and people laughed over their drinks. The atmosphere reminded him of the Green Dragon.

He slipped around Big Folk -- mostly adults -- and climbed up a stool to see the bar. The drinks on the shelves seemed to glow, fizz, and pour themselves, but he was not sure if they did or not; his chin barely perched on the bar, barely high enough for him to read the drink labels or to see the display of fried fish on the back counter.

Before he could call for the owner, she already appeared: a woman with blonde curls, pink cheeks, and strong arms.

She frowned. "Oi, I don't serve lil' ones. Now, go getcha mommy so you can get a nice, non-alcoholic --" she squinted at him and noticed the wrinkles around his eyes "-- Oh, pardon me, sir! Sorry, I'm not used to serving too many goblins in these parts. It's been a long night, y'know?"

"Goblin?" Bilbo scoffed. "Good gracious, where did you get that from?"

"Sorry, sorry! Half 'n' half, then." She smiled. "You don't happen to be a brother or cousin of Professor Flitwick?"

"Uh, no, I don't think so. I'm not from around here." He looked over his shoulder in paranoia, only seeing the patrons cheering on a chugging contest. "In fact, I need some help. I'm in a bit of trouble, y'see. I've been separated from my company -- uh, a wizard and twelve dwarves -- and I'm rather lost. Could you tell me where I'm at and, if you can, spare some bread for me? I haven't eaten all day."

The woman -- Madam Rosmerta, he heard someone call her -- poured a few drinks together and slid them down the bar. "Well, for one, you're in Hogsmeade. Second, no, haven't seen any dwarves. They usually come around Valentine's day to fill in as candy-grams."

"Huh, that's... strange." He could not imagine a dwarf like Thorin or Dwalin working as seasonal entertainers. "I'll have to ask about that later. Anyways, have you seen a wizard about these parts?"

"A wizard?" she snorted, pulling out a polished stick and waggling it. "You must be very lost if you're asking for only one wizard." Within a blink of an eye, a nearby glass filled with rum.

He stared.

"So, what parts are you from? Your accent doesn't sound foreign enough to be from too far away."

"U-uh, how did you...?" He pointed at the rum, watching it float off to a table. "Wha...? There are more wizards here?"

"Yes," she smirked. "You must be very lost if you haven't seen too many wizards in one place."

Within seconds, the warm air turned heavy and uncomfortable. Bilbo looked around the tavern with new eyes; he noticed the sticks in people's hands and the shreds of casual magic they casted. Could there be more than just a few wizards? Were these people even wizards, or were they unearthly beings posing to be wizards? Suddenly, the lightning bolts the man and woman fired at him made sense. They were specifically hunting him -- for the magic he gave off, he remembered -- and he could guess why.

He clutched onto his pocket. "I need to find Gandalf," he blurted before Madam Rosmerta shuffled off to serve fried fish. "I have to find him, please!"

"Whoa, whoa, okay! If you want to stay after hours, I'm sure I can help ya."

"B-but, I need-"

The tavern door opened and it sounded like a bomb in Bilbo's ear; the delicious smells spoiled. Before his eyes darted toward it, he knew who it was with the way the figures oozed danger, with the way they held their sticks out tensely. An emerald cloak. Black hair.

He leaned closer to Madam Rosmerta. "May I use your back door?"

"Sure? But, if you'll wait a few hours, I can-"

He took off.

Disregarding stealth, he passed through and around crowds, his feet finding every splinter in the floorboards. When he tried to look back at the man and woman, he ran into a table; a plate of empty glasses fell and silenced the entire tavern.

"There!" someone barked.

Before anything else, before he could see the man and woman charging after him, Bilbo found the back door and escaped into the night. The storm roared on.

He created a fair distance between him and the tavern, crossing a creek and passed a few trees before his legs finally gave out. He fell into a dark puddle, icy water soaking his waistcoat and ruining all of his warmth, all of his security. And, for a while, he laid there, lost and unsure, and let the cold seep into his strained muscles.

He did not know where to go, what to do, or what to make of this place. How was he supposed to fend off two wizards? He did slay a few Mirkwood spiders earlier, but what could he do against two big people and magic? Perhaps he could not do anything, he thought. Perhaps he had to stand by and hope for Gandalf. But, until then, he would hide in shadows, the ring his friend.

He was about to put it on and hide, but he delayed too long. A dark figure appeared and rough hands grabbed him.

"Wh-? Let me go! Let me go!" he cried, thrashing as arms ensnared him and hoisted him off the ground. "Get your hands off me!"

"I've got it! This is it!" a young man yelled. "Hermione, paralyze the thing! It's the source!"

"No!" Another dark figure came into existence. "We need it to talk because we don't know if-"

"I know this thing's evil! Just hex it already! That's why I caught it; I need you to hex it good and hard!"

"But, Dumbledore would-"

"Where's Ron?"

"Harry! Just stop and think for a-"

"I'll do it then!" The young man tightened his hold on Bilbo with one arm, then pulled out a polished stick.

Bilbo struggled harder. "You'll do none of that!"

He tried to pull the ring out, but the young man's elbow jabbed his pocket instead. In half a second, the young man screamed, released him, and clasped his forehead in pain. Bilbo, not questioning his luck, sprinted away before the other figure could catch him.

"After it!" the young man hollered and chased after him. The other figure was not far behind.

" _Wingardium Leviosa!_ "

A fallen limb rose up in front of Bilbo. He barely jumped over it, knees buckling, then collided into a wall of bushes. Twigs pierced into his thin, soaked clothes. Quickly, he pushed through it, eyes shut tight, and fell out of the other side. He could not tell if his eyes were open or not, but, regardless, he ran, sweat dripping off his temple and drizzling down with the rain.

He ran, but he went nowhere.

"Oh, Gandalf, where are you?" He winced, stopping and leaning against a tree. He knew the figures would catch up -- he heard rustling behind him -- but his legs felt broken. And once again, the ring, even though it gave him terrible headaches, would be his saving grace.

He was about to put it on again, but something caught his eye up ahead; a figure stood in a clearing. A gray beard and familiar robes. He could not believe it.

"Gandalf?" the hobbit breathed. "Gandalf! There you are!"

In a few anxious bounces, Bilbo reached him, grabbing his sleeve like it was a lifeline. The wizard could not have come at a better time.

"Gandalf, you don't know how happy I am to see you!" He looked back and saw the dark figures -- now three of them -- growing larger. "I-I need some help right now. We can discuss the details later because-"

"A child?" the figure asked, and suddenly Bilbo spotted a polished stick in the figure's hand. Gandalf's staff was nowhere in sight. "What is a child doing out so late and alone...?"

In a ray of moonlight, now that he was closer, Bilbo saw a flash of spectacles on the figure's face, seeing purple robes instead of gray ones. Hopelessly, this was not Gandalf, even if the old man in front of him had the same wise, kind eyes.

Bilbo stepped back. "O-oh! Pardon me, uh-"

"Dumbledore!" The young man caught up, green eyes flashing toward Bilbo. "Get away from that thing! I can feel-"

The man lifted a hand. "Be still, Harry."

"Dumbledore!"

"It's alright."

"But-"

"All is well."

"My scar-"

"I know."

In the same reassuring way that Gandalf would have done, the man knelt down slowly and put a hand on Bilbo's shoulder. Perhaps that was why the hobbit did not run again: the man was the only familiar thing he had encountered so far. Also, perhaps, his legs refused.

"My good sir, will you care to enlighten us about yourself? We have many questions concerning you and a recent phenomenon."

"A-as do I!"

"Splendid. Now, will you come back with me to Hogwarts? You look you may need a change of clothes and something warm to eat."

"That would be appreciated." Bilbo nodded. "Just, uh, where exactly is Hogwarts?"

The man's eyes twinkled. "Far from your world."

 **\--E--**

 **Have a golly good day!**

 **(Happy Thanksgiving!)**


	2. Concerning Magic

**Hello! How are you?**

 **\--E--**

Professor McGonagall exhaled a pound of stress before frowning. "If the Headmaster said you cannot, then you cannot. This matter does not concern you three."

"If it concerns Voldemort, then it does concern me!" Harry fumed, his eyes bright and wild like the red lacing his scar. "I sensed the ripple just like Dumbledore did, so I should be there interrogating him too!"

"He's not interrogating him. He's only trying to resolve tonight's confusion and, hopefully, it will be without conflict. Now, off to bed, all of you. You're all passed curfew and I will take points away and give you all detention -- yes, I will, Ms. Granger -- if you do not comply."

Ron frowned. "But, why's Dumbledore letting that thing in his office? He knows it's evil, so-"

"Ron! He knows what he's doing," Hermione scolded. "We have to trust that he'll clear things up and that the little man will leave."

"To bed, all of you." McGonagall turned away. "And don't try anything tricky. I've been kind enough to not give you detention straight away, but anything more and I'll take no exception. And, Harry," she paused, noticing the droplet of blood on his scar. "Everything will be sorted out. Just do what's given to you."

He gritted his teeth before turning away.

 **\--E--**

"So, you're saying this castle is a school?" Bilbo asked and set down his teacup.

"Yes," Dumbledore said. "Hogwarts is its name."

"Amazing! I thought this castle was a kingdom!"

"A kingdom..." The Headmaster sipped his cup's rim. "The world you said you were from -- Middle-earth, yes? -- does it still practice monarchy?"

Bilbo, with his feet dangling off his chair, nodded. "Although the Shire uses a municipal system instead. Much more efficient, if you ask me -- Wait, one more question," he started suddenly. "If this is a school, then those teenagers from earlier were students, not guards?"

"Precisely."

"Ah, I see. Well, it's good to see young people so alert, then."

Dumbledore smiled.

Two hours ago, Bilbo was allowed a room to prepare himself in: a large tub and spare clothes -- the smallest shirt and trousers available. He was surprised that it fit him, not hanging off his body or awkwardly proportioned. Magic, he thought gratefully.

After a dinner of baked potatoes and bean casserole -- hot food healing his stomach while soft linen soothing his skin -- he recovered and met with the old man, Dumbledore. He discussed concerns with him-- a wizard, as Bilbo discovered with the self-refilling teacups, the magical trinkets on his desk, and the moving portraits decorating his office. The magic that swelled in the room impressed him, reminding him more and more of Gandalf: pleasant and fascinating. The Headmaster also seemed like Gandalf as the discussion matured, especially with the way he was easy to talk with, with the way he dropped sugar cubes in his cup with delicate fingers, and even the way his smile reflected great age and wisdom. Just like Gandalf.

In the discussion, the wizard had informed him the very best he could: "It appears to me, with information available, that you are not from our world. Obvious, yes, especially with your description of wizards, but the magical imbalance I talked about can support this conclusion. Although, Mr. Baggins, the why of the situation are hidden from all of us."

"Well, yes, magic is how, but the why is definitely more interesting, yeah."

"Yes, I'm thinking the same as well. I have predictions, but they're all half-baked."

For a moment, they turned to their thoughts, letting the air thicken in theories. Little to think, but plenty to process. Bilbo set down his cup, arms crossed, and tried to reason why it happened. It was hard to explain, but he was not clueless; the ring in his pocket seemed to buzz with excitement ever since he woke up in the forest.

"All I can say though is that I need to get back. My company may be in trouble."

"Understandable. Your company -- Thorin Oakenshield's, correct? -- is probably worried about you."

"I'd be surprised if they were! They were just taken captive of woodland elves, so I'd guess they're occupied at the moment."

"Elves..." Dumbledore knitted his eyebrows, then chuckled. "You'll have to describe them to me later."

They took another moment to ponder. But, the only thing that seemed worth talking about was the Phoenix beside the Headmaster's desk. It cried a musical note and Bilbo perked up.

"Well, I can't say I have the faintest idea on why I got here and how I can get back, but I must say your Pheonix is magnificent," the hobbit said, gesturing to the bird's vibrant red feathers. "I've only read about them in books, but seeing one in person is truly breathtaking."

"Hm," Dumbledore hummed. "I'm sure Fawkes is flattered. Although, he has been rather curious about you too, I think." The bird had eyed Bilbo like he was a new toy ever since the discussion started. "But, then again, I have to say I am too. There is no creature of your biology that this world has ever seen... well, I guess there are goblins. They're very similar to your stature, although your overall description is uniquely hobbit-owned."

"Good gracious, goblins being the closest thing to a hobbit? That's quite sad, but I suppose it makes sense compared to two different worlds and such. Although, I find it strange that no hobbits abide here." Bilbo shrugged. "Oh well. In any case, I suppose a hobbit is not as sightly as a Phoenix."

"I wouldn't say that. Hobbits -- as you've described -- seem interesting. The whole bare-feet quirk, I am rather jealous of. But, that also brings to mind a question: are hobbits magical?"

When Bilbo glanced at the wizard, he noticed he looked a few degrees more serious, a few degrees more business-like. Fawkes suddenly became still too.

"Uh, no, not really. We're non-magical folk, but we're used to witnessing magic like my friend, Gandalf, and elvish medicine and herbs and buttons and whatnot."

"So then, you cannot use magic, but carry it?"

He tensed. "Yes?"

"Please tell me, because I'm afraid your magic is very unknown to me. The ripple I was talking about had to have been your effect."

In deep thought, Bilbo picked up his tea, held it to his lips, but did not drink. It had gone cold. "Well, uh, it was just a little something I came across... It's definitely helped me stand on my own two feet in the wild... definitely a treasure... But, yeah, I guess it technically is magical," he murmured.

"May I examine it?"

He hesitated, seeing the wizard's searching look, but then, with an idea, with a stroke of slyness, with something he was not proud of, he glanced at the wall; a small sword leaned against it. "Sting glows whenever orcs or goblins are nearby. Very helpful when you're traveling."

A moment passed before the Headmaster let go of Bilbo's eyes, got up, and strode over to the sword, relieving Bilbo more than the bath from earlier. Not only did his shoulder relax, but the ring in his pocket started to cool as well. With a head turn, he saw the man's finger hover gingerly over Sting like he expected the sword to attack. But, it only reflected honey light.

"Ah, yes, there's some magic there. Not like ours... a bit more potent, but in a modest way," Dumbledore said aloud. "A nice blade, you have."

"Thank you. It's helped me out more than once," he said and sunk back into his chair. Now, his tea tasted better.

"Yes, yes, well --" Dumbledore returned to his seat, Fawkes calling for attention "-- I guess we do need to discuss some more before it gets any later. For instance, I propose you stay here at Hogwarts. After all, it makes sense for you to go back to your world from the same place you came, but also because it is much safer here than anywhere else right now."

"Why?" Bilbo asked. "Is there trouble afoot?"

"Yes, and I'd advise you not to concern yourself over it. It's a headache and a half and I don't think you need that.

"Anyway, since this is a school, you must follow code: you'll be officially titled as a guest, but you cannot interfere with our students' courses, although I'm sure you wouldn't."

"Of course not," he smiled. "I like to think myself to be a bit of a scholar, so I understand the annoyance of that."

"Wonderful," Dumbledore eyes' twinkled, then he stood up again. "Although, I see nothing wrong with popping into the library and prominent rooms in the school every now and then. You might find something to help you get back... and, besides, it could be dull being in your room all day."

Before Bilbo could thank him again -- for food, for fresh clothes, for generosity and care -- footsteps erupted behind him. With a quick glance, he recognized the man and woman from the forest. They still seemed to have pale, ghost faces. He straightened himself and returned their prying looks with a smile.

"Good evening, Professor Snape, Professor McGonagall," the Headmaster said. "If either of you two would escort our guest, Mr. Baggins, back to his room, that would be much appreciated."

"Oh, wait a minute," the hobbit started, noticing the red mark on the greasy man's nose. "You're the fellow I-"

"Yes," Snape flashed.

He cleared his throat. "Uh, sorry about that. Didn't know what to do at the time."

"Water under the bridge." McGonagall faked a smile.

There was an exchange of anxious glances between the wizards -- a small facial stretch from Bilbo -- before Dumbledore chuckled and assured the man and woman that there was nothing to fret over. But, Bilbo noticed, they did not seem convinced.

In a few strides, Dumbledore picked up Sting again and looked down at the hobbit. "Also, while you stay here, I'll need to keep this for you, and you can understand why."

"Of course."

"Splendid."

Once the hobbit departed with Snape, who seemed to take offense at Bilbo's attempt to start a conversation, the forced smile of McGonagall's face revealed itself: astonishment.

"Albus, what is that creature?" she breathed, appalled and amazed.

"Mr. Baggins is a hobbit," he replied. "A very charming fellow, I might add. We covered a lot in the last hour and it was rather refreshing."

"But, how did he get here? Where is he from?"

"I will inform you and Severus in a few moments."

She frowned. "Alright then... but, what is a hobbit?"

He shrugged mirthfully.

 **\--E--**

"Well, I am going to admit that I am rather proud of how much we've covered in the last hour, especially since this is a between-worlds problem and all. Such things can be boggling to grasp. Anyways, I've come to understand our problem." Dumbledore painted out the information, explaining hobbits, Middle-earth, and the ripple. "It'll be hard how to send him back to his world when we cannot place how he came here, unless either of you know about falling into ravines and popping up in another world. But, until we get there, we need to house him and keep him safe -- especially with the magical disturbance he caused. I fear the worst of it, if dealt wrongfully."

"Yes, yes, Albus, about that..." McGonagall began. "I'm sure we all sensed that ripple, Potter especially, but it really concerns me as to why you'll let him abide here. With the Dark Lord back and the Ministry running amock, a powerful evil in Hogwarts will not make anything better. Certainly, the magic will attract the Dark Lord's attention and put us all in danger."

"Of course it will. All of us were in danger from the start, which is especially why we need to contain Mr. Baggins in Hogwarts. It is the safest place to be, if I am so bold to say, and it would be tragic if his magic was taken advantage by Voldemort. There is no doubt that the magical ripple reached his senses as well. Such power cannot go unnoticed by the sensitive."

"But, the magic will put the students at risk," she said. "And with the Umbridge woman in the way of things, I cannot imagine a worse situation."

"Yes, she is rather unpleasant, but I'm sure we can steer Mr. Baggins clear of her. Although, with an encounter or two, I'm sure he will know."

"Albus," Snape started, his voice low and articulate. "What are we to do with him, then? A being of evil shouldn't go unsupervised."

"Correct, it shouldn't. Such power makes me grow uneasy, but I do not believe him to be evil. We'll need to keep an eye on him, yes, but only for extra precautions."

"Not evil?" Snape's eyes narrowed. "Albus, you cannot say that. He's the source. You cannot deny that."

"I know." Dumbledore pulled Sting a few inches out of its sheaf, indented designs shimmering. "He is not the source, but he carries it. He's told me of this magic sword, but it is not the source. The power he carries could be more devastating than, dare I say, Voldemort's. And, I fear it is still on his person."

Snape and McGonagall looked at each other.

"But, it's an object I cannot understand, and it would be unwise to take it from him. Foreign, cursed items will be fatal if we cannot comprehend its abilities, especially one causing this much of a disturbance."

Snape frowned. "So, we'll just have to make sure Mr. Baggins behaves."

"I believe he will, but, with something like this, I know I cannot hesitant in drawing a wand. I hope I do not have to. He is a pleasant little fellow."

"We will see."

The Headmaster set Sting in one of his drawers and it delighted him when it fit like a toothpick in a shoe box. "Well, my friends, I will say that hobbits are definitely interesting creatures. Though, I don't think I can fathom eating five to six meals a day... I'll have to inform the chiefs about that."

Snape cleared his throat. "Rather demanding, isn't he?"

"I wouldn't say that. He's a creature with certain needs. Besides, I'm sure the house-elves would be delighted with a recurring fellow." Dumbledore folded his hands together. "Until everything is sorted out and Mr. Baggins is returned to his world, we will need to keep an eye on him as well as everything else, but I'm sure we can manage. Let us have patience and peace with us."

"Understood," McGonagall nodded, and soon Snape bowed his head as well.

"Excellent, but --" his voice dropped and made both of them jump "-- I must ask of you two to do the hardest, most impossible task, something that cannot happen if taken lightly, nor something I can see going smoothly." He smiled without humor. "Keep him away from Harry."

 **\--E--**

 **Have a golly good day!**


	3. Theories, Candies, and Nosebleeds

**Hello! How are you doing?** **Finals are _final_ ly over, so I have some extra time to type and publish. Hopefully I can stay consistent!**

 **\--E--**

"Who cares if he barely comes up to my belly-button?" a Gryffindor girl exclaimed in the commons room. "Did you see the bloke's feet?"

"Yeah, the size of boots with furry wigs!" a boy said with wide-eyes. "He makes my dad's look normal."

"Like-like," the girl rambled, "I know lots about magical creatures and things -- I'm planning to go into that field, y'know -- but I've never seen or heard about hobbits before... And did you see his ears? He's like a house-elf or a goblin, but not."

"Dunno, but I'd much rather have hobbits around the school than dementors any day."

"True, true."

While the conversation moved on to potions homework, Harry huffed to himself and removed himself from earshot. He had been eavesdropping, trying to shovel information out of his peers, but still found nothing important or worthy of his time. With Quidditch, O.W.L.S, detention, and Voldemort's return, every second was too expensive to waste, too limited to ignore. Yet, the time he did spare revealed a little more about the creature -- not enough to satisfy him, but enough for him to paint a picture of the hobbit.

During breakfast that morning, after Dumbledore briefly announced the temporary guest, Harry had noticed that Mr. Baggins sat at the end of the teachers' table, sitting on the tallest seat available. It had infuriated him, almost as much as Umbridge's presence, when the hobbit sat in the spot Hagrid usually did. It had flooded fire in his body when the creature, bearing evil, seemed to replace Hagrid, seemed to be the reason why the half-giant was absent. And it did not help that the creature had made fast acquaintances with Professor Grubbly-plank either.

With this, his mood had not improved throughout the day. The slow burn beneath his skin only rose.

Giving up, Harry marched back to the table Ron and Hermione studied at and dropped into his chair. He scowled at his blank parchment, not bothering to look over the Defense Against the Dark Arts homework Umbridge forced upon them. He would much rather have the hobbit run up and bite his ankles off than write another meaningless paragraph.

Ron and Hermione said nothing to him -- unsure of his mood, he guessed -- but, with time, Hermione set down her book and said, "I checked the library earlier, but there's nothing on hobbits. It's either hobbits are a new discovery or they simply don't exist. Even in mythology, they don't exist."

"So, nothing useful, then?" Harry sighed. "Perfect."

"Well," Ron started, "d'you think he's a new species? Like, You-Know-Who created him or somethin'?"

"Seems like it. Sometimes my scar starts hurting when I see him, so it could be something like that. But, it's almost like his magic is in plain sight, but it's hushed up."

"Ah, so he's like one of You-Know-Who's undercover henchmen, then?"

"That's what I'm thinking, but he makes my scar hurt really bad even when he's a room away." Harry picked up a quill and doodled on loose parchment. "Obviously, he's connected, but I think it's a greater connection than most Death-eaters, even if he is as tall as a six year-old... Though he seems to be stronger than most wizards on a magical scale."

After a minute, Ron added on an eye and mouth to Harry's doodle, manipulating it into a morbid frog face.

"Hey, look, it's Umbridge." He smirked, adding hair and an ugly amount of makeup.

"But, we don't know if he is or not," Hermione stated. "He has a connection, but we can't do anything if we don't have proof. Maybe Dumbledore will listen to you again if you talk-"

"He won't," he snapped. "He's being unreasonable again, so it's up to us to fix it. 'Just do what's given to you,'" he mocked. "Everything's given to me, apparently."

"But, Dumbledore has everything in order."

"Not this time. Did you see how he acted when the ripple happened?"

"W-well, no. I couldn't feel it, so I didn't notice. I'm sure a lot of us didn't."

"Voldemort did."

She and Ron flinch.

The commons room grew quiet.

"But," she began again once the air recovered, "if we have solid proof-"

"What else d'you think I've been doing? Between classes, I've been following that thing around and checking the map, but he mostly stays in the kitchen or the library when the hallways are filled... although, I wouldn't mind seeing him swim through that," he murmured bitterly. "Anyway, on the map, he's usually around teachers when they're not teaching, so I'm guessing Dumbledore is making sure he's guarded and watched, making it hard for me to investigate his intentions or for him to commit any evils.

"But, during potions today -- don't ask how I managed to do that; Snape was completely out of it today -- but, during potions today, I noticed that the thing likes to walk about the corridors and courtyards alone. He's made it from the dungeons to the third floor a few times before he went back to the library for a break."

"D'you think he's planning something?" Ron asked.

"No doubt. He's done this every other class."

Before Harry could describe an interesting encounter when Peeves cornered Mr. Baggins -- when all he could see was a frenzy of ink feet running across the map -- George and Fred perched their heads on Ron's shoulders.

"Gossiping about the lil' gent, are we?" they mused in unison.

"None of your business!" Ron shoved them off, but they only drifted to Harry and donated a handful of candies into his bag.

"Wanna try one now?" Fred asked. "It's completely safe, honest."

"After torturing all the first year's with the prototypes?" Hermione frowned. "You both know those are banned."

"But, it's safe! Seriously!"

"In fact, it works all too well," George commented, stealing Harry's quill and doodling beside Umbridge's face. "You can ask Mr. Baggins yourself."

For a thick moment, all Harry could hear was low voices from the couches, the sound of perking ears, and George's quill tip scraping on the parchment -- the drawing of a face without a nose. He exchanged looks with Ron and Hermione.

"You gave him candy?" He gawked, disgusted.

"Why so surprised?" The twins asked. "You look at us like we stole one of Snape's knickers."

A few laughs from the background only made the twins' grins widen.

"Y'see," George started, "during a lecture, Fred and I decided we need to focus our efforts into something more worth our while. So, we went off to tinker, y'know? We had some inventions to make and some we needed to perfect. But, then, we saw the lil' fella sitting on one of the benches in the courtyard. He was writing in his booklet with one hand and playing with a small ball or somethin' in the other. He was all alone, so, of course, we had to help him feel welcomed."

George straightened himself and said in mock-sweetness, "'Excuse us, Mr. Baggins, but are you busy at the moment?'"

Taking a quill from the table, Fred sunk to his knees and pretended to write on his hand. He looked up at George, head all the way back, with a wrinkled expression plastered on his face. "'Hm? Oh, hello, lads. What d'you two have with you there?'"

George offered a candy, thoughtfulness oozing off his slow words as he said, "'We were just wondering if you would like to taste-test these candies of ours. Y'see, kind sir, we need the opinions of our audience before we make it in the big league with the other candy makers. We'd be honored if you could help us out.'"

While the twins acted out every detail, emphasizing details like Professor Trelawney when she proclaimed predictions, a crowd of Gryffindors gathered and spectated with amusement. At least, Harry thought, they were watching because of the twins, not because of him. It took some weight off his heart knowing he was not the center of attention this time.

"So, we gave him a few dud candies to reel him in," George narrated. "But, then, we gave him a nosebleed nougat."

Fred lurched forward, covering his nose, then shook his body with a twitching fit.

George continued, a grin curving his lips. "Then the lil' fella started laughing so hard, saying, 'Magic! I knew you two were trouble! I've been around Phil and Kylie for long enough to know pranks all too well! Guess it's on me for not recognizing it sooner!'"

"Phil and Kylie?" Hermione asked Harry, but he said nothing.

Fred stood up. "Probably one of the most abnormal reactions we've gotten in a while. We can't say we've had an adult react like that before, so I count that as a nice change of pace. Although," he started, "I guess we need to be careful around him. Wouldn't want to such a soft-looking fellow having too many nosebleeds at once."

"Of course," George smirked.

For a moment, they looked at each other. "It would be a shame if someone were to-"

"You will not harass the hobbit!" Hermione yelled through the crowd's eruption of laughter. "For one, that nougat could've damaged his systems if he was unfamiliar to magic, or it could've been too much blood loss for his small body, or, better yet, give him a heart attack!"

"Besides, if you get on his bad side, he might kill you two first." Ron laughed.

"Okay, okay, how about this?" George said. "Instead of asking him --" he ran up to a first year in the crowd and hoisted him into the air "-- we grab him and run off before Hermione can nag our brains out."

"I don't nag!"

"It's foolproof! No one will notice a small kidnapping or two."

As George swung the first year around, yelling, "I caught myself a hobbit!" and as Hermione tried to get Ron to rescue him, Harry stood up. He blocked out the blaring noises and tapped Fred's shoulder.

"Yes?" he sang.

"You guys were saying he was writing something down in a book?"

"I'm pretty sure, yep."

"What was it?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" He smirked at Harry's tightening jaw.

"Fred, please."

"What? We saw him writing, but we didn't read it, ya freak," he chuckled. "But, I'm sure if you follow George's guide to hobbit-kidnapping, then you'd find out some beef."

"Can't you guys dig around for me? Y'see, I'm spread thin right-"

"Say no more!" He slapped his back. "We owe you lots, my friend, so we'll see what we can crack outta him."

"Sounds good."

"A few candies and some rope would do the trick."

"Alright."

With a surveying look, Fred waited a few moments before saying, "You're not concerned if we do crack him?"

"Not really. Beat him for all I care, but just make it secret."

"You're fun."

 **\--E--**

 **Have a golly good day!**


	4. Researching the Out-of-Reach

**Hello! How are you?**

 **An unexpected snow day appeared this morning and it was a very nice surprise. Don't you just love it when these things happen? So, after a gallon of hot chocolate and a lil' snowman building, I wrote this chapter. Again, this is a discovery plot, so let's see where it goes!**

 **Enjoy!**

 **-E-**

The sticky dew on the lawn amplified the rising sun. Yellow drenched the surrounding forest, upon the castle, and over the courtyard. Warm light and cool breezes mixed together. And, as the songbirds bounced in the bushes, Bilbo breathed in everything, sitting on a stone bench with swaying feet, books accompanying either side of him.

Mornings like these were one of the many reasons why he was content sheltering in Hogwarts. The hot meals, the feathered beds, the charming professors, the architecture, and the fascinating magic made it difficult to plan his return home. Hogwarts became like Bag End in a way.

But, the more and more he stayed, after a few days became a week, after his body recovered from Mirkwood, Bilbo's itch to get home grew painful. He had no idea what was happening to the dwarves or where Gandalf was. They all could be in trouble - lost, starving, suffering - and he was lounging in a castle, eating all he wanted and napping whenever he pleased. The unfairness plagued him, guilt settling behind his brain and making his brief vacation troublesome.

But, instead of letting that eat away at his spirit, he took his anxiety out on books; the library became his secondary abode. For the past several days, he had poured over books, wrote down important lines, and made a few drafts of how he came here and how to send him back. All theories. All predictions. This research was sure to help him somehow, if only to keep his thoughts busy. It could be all for nothing. Although, a part of him hoped it would help in the next meeting with the headmaster, who he had not seen since his first night here.

While the sun rose pass the trees, Bilbo cracked a book across his lap and skimmed the paragraphs, fluttering the book corner. It was slow work, but he kept his patience sturdy.

With some time, he read this passage: _In 1856, there was an unexplained case of random apparating (see page 68 for details.) The epidemic only seemed to affect the strongest wizards in the Hungarian region, but also affected normal wizards that happened to carry cursed objects. These objects have not been found or identified since then, all except for a bracelet._ He looked up a few keywords - "What does apparating mean?" - and continued. _Many specialists claimed it was because of cursed portkeys or untamable magic cast by dark wizards, but that did not seem to be the case after Una P. Horsetail made a discovery of black magic thirty years later at the Hungarian site (see page 75 for details.) It would have confirmed the cursed portkeys prediction, but this black magic was unknown and unlabeled. Its residue passed before it could be further investigated. But, many believed it was a side effect of an entirely different, unknown event. Predictions included unorderly magic or a rare instance in apparating problems._

After finding a description of portkeys, Bilbo wrote down his findings and pondered. The bottom of his toes froze while the top of his foot felt like the sun roasted them. Ice below and fire on top. There had been socks in his room, lined up across his dresser, and now he almost wished he took them.

With some time, he gave up, planning to move onto one of his other books, but felt a pulse in his pocket instead. He stopped and looked down; the ring was in his hand.

"Huh… that's odd." He gazed at it. "I thought it was…." Enchanted by its smooth band and luscious color, he forgot his thoughts and fingered it.

Although, glancing at his notes, he could not deny that the ring was involved in his predicament. It became alive, throbbing with beauty and power, buzzing at random times like a pocket pet squeaking for attention. But, no matter what, Bilbo desired not to speak to the headmaster about it. A paranoia stopped his tongue. What if these wizards wanted it for themselves? What if this was his way back home and they took it without a thought? Are they not attracted to magic anyway?

He stored it back in his pocket and left the courtyard.

 **-E-**

Making it to the kitchens did not take as long as he thought, especially with a few groups of students crowding the hallways, eyeing him as he strolled pass.

The moment he stepped through the kitchen door, a wave of bacon and gravy hug him. He sighed and suddenly heard a small cheer from the house elves. Some of the staff stopped washing dishes, sweeping the floor, or preparing lunch- all done by supervised magic - and attended to him. They gathered about him like butterflies to nectar. Many squeaks and murmurs offered to hang up his coat or to sit him at the kitchen table.

"Please don't mind me! I wouldn't want to distract you all!"

They insisted.

"Oh, it's not a problem!"

"We don't 'ave too much goin' on anyway."

"Would ya like tea or coffee? Perhaps juice? Orange or apple - oh, do hobbits like juice? Everyone like juice! - or even grape?"

It was not until a scarf-wearing, gloved house elf came that there was order. He plowed through the small crowd and bowed low before saying, "Good morning, Mr. Baggins! What would you like for your second breakfast today?"

"G'morning, Dobby," he relaxed, sitting down at the kitchen table, which was perfectly proportioned for house elves and himself, much to his delight. "A lovely hat you have, by the way. It's a very nice shade of purple."

The house elf beamed and twirled the ends of his scarf. "Thanks! Now, what do you fancy?"

"Oh, anything convenient for you all. You don't need to go out of your way for me."

"Ah, but we insist!" Dobby exclaimed, fixing his knitted hat from slumping over his eyes. "We were just preparing soup for lunch later - does sausage and kale work for you? - and also some cinnamon cake."

"Cinnamon cake! Well, I cannot deny that!"

Dobby bowed again before dashing off, receiving easy help from the other house elves, who all chatted eagerly like the Thrain came to visit them. After a few moments, the kitchen finished up cleaning breakfast and now focused on lunch. Magic spells chopped onions and potatoes, cooking meats, and scouring large pots. Fingers snapped and elves squeaked. It was entertaining, Bilbo thought, hearing the humming and seeing the floating ingredients. He wondered if Gandalf was able to do magic like this.

"'Ello, sir!" a house elf with watery brown eyes appeared at his side, wiping the non-existent crumbs off the table. "I 'ave a question, if ya don't mind me askin'."

"Yes?" Bilbo smiled.

"Is it true that your world's house elves are tall?"

"Oh, exceptionally! When I traveled with my company to Rivendell, the elves there were like skinny mountains! Probably about twice our heights, although Lord Elrond was even taller than that. He was a very nice chap, very well mannered and patient."

The elf's eyes sparkled. "That's amazin'! I also 'eard from my sister that you said they were a very wise, beau'ful people."

"I've never met an elf who wasn't!"

"Absolutely amazin'! I also wonder if there's any type of-"

"Brother!" a different house elf squealed, charging up to them, ears flopping wildly. "Don't you be muckin' 'bout and ignorin' your respons'ilities!" She quickly bowed to Bilbo and fixed a glare at her brother. "Now get! You have a floor to mop!"

"Oh, it's all fine, really!" Bilbo assured. "Questions are best asked, never neglected. But, I suppose you all do have order and a system that I shouldn't interfere with."

"Oh-oh!" She ducked her head. "It's all okay, Mr. Baggins! I just thought my brother was botherin' you, is all."

"Not at all," he smiled. "Just answering some questions, all of which I've had myself before I went to Rivendell."

The brother smiled. "Is it pretty there, by the way?"  
"Oh, my goodness," Bilbo sighed. "It's a masterpiece, honestly. It's like someone painted all the waterfalls and gardens and buildings and the people and the trees and the moon and the valley with the technique of an immortal god… very beautiful. Although, an immortal god would make sense since the elves are immortal themselves."

"Immortal!" The brother and sister gawked. "Amazin'!"

Bilbo spent the rest of his mealtime describing his brief stay, happy to see how intrigued and invested the siblings - as well as other listening elves in the background - of his account. He had to ask for some tea to finish the last third of the story, although.

 **-E-**

With a full belly of rich soup and cake, warming his insides and tickling down his ribs, he arrived at the library just before the students left their classes. He had perfected his avoidance of the hallway rush. The last time he was caught, he ran into five students and a teacher - Professor Snape, he believed - before he could shelter in a small nook. Thankfully, he had not suffered it again.

After returning a couple of his books - ones he had cleaned of every fact and studies - he returned to the shelves to see if he missed any volumes from his last visit. To his satisfaction, there were so many books upwards and sideways that he could not view them all in one sitting. It was a problem he had never experienced before, and he wished that was his only problem.

Setting up shop in a quiet corner, he readied his notes and began for another information dive, scanning over _Weird Wizarding Dilemmas and Their Solutions_ and letting his quill race across his notes whenever valid details appeared.

But, all through it, his sensitive hobbit ears perked up whenever groups of students - all with black and yellow uniforms - would whisper his name. While they studied their subjects at a distance, they glanced at him and murmured what they knew about him. Some truth and some false. But, this was no surprise. Bilbo remembered the looks he got when he had traveled to Bree; all of the natives gave him strange looks, man or hobbit. This, he reasoned, could not be any different.

He smiled at them, his cheeks a little red, then returned to his books.

With time, he went into another candidate, _Unexplained Cases Through the Ages_. It did not tell him much, only some background on broken magical items and jinxed wands, but he did find this: _In 1921, a report of a woman unable to perform any magic. The cause was unknown, but it was suspected it was because of black magic or a faulty wand. But, to this day, it was never explained._ This was small, but it made him think; what if the ring lost some magic and somehow made him appear here? What if the lost magic came here and now the ring was magnetized to it? He was not sure how, but it seemed like an idea.

After writing a sentence down - coded and scrambled in case prying eyes swept over his notes - he heard something: "I remember Bryan saying its feet were as hard as steel."

He looked up; eyes darted away. The students went back to their books, staring forcefully at their homework. Even if they were curious or worried, Bilbo thought, this attention and staring made his shoulders stiff and posture awkward, feeling modest about his feet when he noticed some students gawking at them from the corner of their eyes.

He cleared his throat and ignored them. And, to keep them off his mind entirely, he moved onto one of his pleasure books - volumes he checked out for his downtime. One of them, _Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland_ , had him hooked.

 _Romaine has become a capital for dragon studies. The Romaine Longhorn has fascinated many through the ages, especially once a dragon enthusiast, Flint Tadpol, was able to recreate the exact substance of these precious dragons' horns and ended the butchering and black trading of the Longhorn in 1958._ Although a different world, he wanted to find information about familiar creatures. Some of it could be correct, he hoped.

Another passage made him reread it several times: _Fooling many to believe they are fire-breathing, aggressive dragons, Firedrakes are small (about the size of a typical great-horned owl) and do not breathe fire. They belong to the dragon family, but are a black sheep among their dragon cousins. They are relatively docile and are even tamable as pets._ An ocean of relief flooded him, although he knew this was false in his world. Smaug, the Chiefest and Greatest of Calamities, could not be smaller than himself or a dwarf, let alone an owl. But, it was a nice thought. But, the more he thought about returning home and arriving at Erebor to rob a dragon hoard - if he and the others ever get there - made him tense. He would have to face the dragon eventually. The illustrations of the Herbiran Black and the Peruvian Vipertooth did not help his stress either.

"Apparently, he visits the kitchen twice more than Ernie. Can you believe tha'?"

Ears perking, he looked up again; eyes shot away. He scanned them, then suddenly noticed a student still watching him - a girl with bushy hair, red and black robes, and big teeth - peering through the bookshelves like it was a shield. This one student inflicted more discomfort on him than the whispers. So much so that he got up.

Within a few moments, he scooped up books, struggling to keep them in his arms, and left. For the sake of his comfort and for the students' focus, he exited the library, every eye gluing themselves to him. He still felt them sting his back even after a few hallways away.

 **-E-**

 **Have a golly good day!**


	5. Lovegood

**Hello! How are you?**

 **After so long, I finally got another chapter up. Thank you for being patient with me and for accepting what I am giving to you all. It is not as polished as I should like, but it is cleaned up and self-edited nicely. What I would give for a beta-reader!**

 **Enjoy!**

 **-E-**

In order to keep his legs from losing their stamina - from shedding away its strength from his feathered bed and cakes - Bilbo made the effort to rise early, stretch, and hike through the school. He had done this ever since he had the notion to research his predicament, and he was proud of this obedience. But, recently, he had been walking extra; perhaps his worry for the dwarves made him pace more, maybe his lack of progress in this world, or, more likely, the ring bouncing in his pocket.

It had only been getting worse, he knew. The ring was acting stranger as time grew. At random moments, it would twitch and jump. Other times it would be too heavy to set down or too peculiar to look away from. It became concerning after Bilbo decided that the presence of a strong wizard - a teacher or select student - usually aroused the ring to act up. It bothered him; why was it like this and how long will it act so? Was it because he was in this world? Did it mean anything? He pondered these taxing thoughts as he traveled down the corridor, glancing at the portraits on his way. He wanted to see if they played any other card games or talked about any other wizard, anything different to lighten his mind, but only some waved at him while others stared at his feet.

He was thinking too much, he knew.

When he was turning around a corner - one he knew led to Flitwick's classroom - he rammed into someone's vest; a cotton belly squished into his face.

"Oh, I am so sorry!" he gasped. "I wasn't looking! I should've been more careful, sorry!"

Instead of moving to the side, the figure knelt down and met his face; it was a blonde, pale girl with blue and black robes. Mature, far-out looks engraved themselves into her features. Yet, a strange cork necklace draped down her front and radish earrings dangled beside her head, spoiling her ancient, chiseled look into something unserious. But, he could not guess why she wore them - they obviously were not for fashion.

Smiling dreamily, she said, "Oh, it's no problem, Mr. Baggins. I run into people rather often. Oh well."

"Yes, well…." He cleared his throat. "It takes two to do so, and sorry for not paying attention."

She smiled. He cleared his throat again.

The moments lengthened too much for his liking. He was unsure whether to turn away or to ask if she needed something. This was the first time he actually encountered a student like this - face to face with clear words, not side-glances or whisperings, but, now, he was not sure what to do, especially that she kept gazing at him with relaxed confidence. Awkwardness gripped him.

"Well, uh, I think I'll be on my way. I don't want to keep you from your classes. Wizard studies are very important from what I've gathered, yes?"

The girl tilted her head. "Hm? Oh… excuse me, but aren't you going to answer my questions?"

"Uh, questions?"

"Yes," she stood up, the ends of her hair long enough to sweep the top of his head. "Though, I left my notes in my dorm. Here, let me go get those." She sighed like a spring breeze. "If you'd be kind enough to wait for me here…."

Bilbo was unsure what to make of her, but said courteously, "O-of course."

-E-

Many herds of students passed him - eyeing him and glancing at his wooly feet - and a couple of ghosts came by and bled into the walls. As more and more figures went by, Bilbo began to doubt and think the girl had left him entirely. Perhaps, she forgot to come back - forgot like the answers he never offered.

He was about to leave, fearing Peeves to fly around the corner at any second - the memory of rotten eggs had scarred him more than a family reunion with the Bracegirdles - but an airy voice made him jump.

"Oh, that's nice of you to wait."

Bilbo looked up and saw the girl again, a large notebook and newspaper propped against her narrow hip. Without a word, she strolled off, making him jump and scramble after her. Her long strides may be slow, but he still had a hard time keeping up.

After a few yards, he asked, "You seemed surprised?"

"Hm?"

"When you saw I waited back there."

"Oh, yes. Y'see, people often don't wait for me, but it's nice of you to do that for me. It's a nice change of company."

Bilbo cleared his throat and could not carry the conversation further.

They traveled for a few minutes before turning down into a side hallway he had not been down yet, where the decorations were new - styled more like royalty artworks and complicated genealogies - and the doors seemed to lead to nowhere important. It did not seem to be a part of the castle, but somewhere completely new, almost like it was an illustration from Gondor's interior design records.

He walked, fixing his collar excessively, and glanced at the new paintings, which stared back like he was an alien disturbing the peace. But, when he had the notion to ask where they were going - after a few more hallways and even a staircase - the girl abruptly turned into a classroom. He followed.

From the looks of its insides, it had not been used in a while. Its desks were stack away against the wall and the curtains blocked the windows. Only slivers of sunlight highlighted the dusty, splinter-edged floorboards. Dust bunnies collected themselves together and rolled around as the girl floated into the room, murmuring a sweet spell. Soon, she set up two chairs in the center of the room - too close together, in Bilbo's opinion. The chairs were like islands in a large lake, except no outsider could swim to them or back.

She flared open the curtains and looked down at him. "Please take a seat, Mr. Baggins, so I may start the interview," she said, opening her notebook and sitting down.

For a moment, he weighed his options, but he could not think of any excuse to leave or any rule in his guest-code saying he could not partake in a student's interview. There was nothing wrong with this. He left the door wide open before moving to sit across from her, their knees brushing against the others'.

"So, uh," he began, "what kind of interview are you conducting?"

"Hm?" she looked up from her notes, blonde hair shimmering. "Oh, just going to ask a few questions. You see, Mr. Baggins, my father writes for _The Quibbler_ , and he and I would love to feature you in it."

"M-me in an article?" Bilbo gawked. "That's too much flattery for little old me!"

She smiled broadly. "Would you please? I know lots about magical creatures and peoples, but never before have I heard of hobbits before… which brings to my first question." She glanced at her notes with a lazy eye. "Are hobbits considered to be good luck and, if you happen to be cousins of leprechauns, do you possess any pots of gold?"

"Oh… uh," his excitement deflated. "What's a leprechaun?"

"That is a no, I think," she said aloud and wrote slowly like she crafted a picture instead. "What about good luck? Is your appearance good luck or do you have superstitions that bring good luck?"

This fascination explained the jewelry, he thought.

"Uh, well… hm, here, if I remember correctly I heard that some big people in Bree - Oh, a town somewhat close to home - believed that hobbits bring good luck by mere appearance. Some think of us to be like the opposite of black cats. Good omens, if you will, especially with the elves. But, according to the Bree big folk as I've mentioned, our feet are luckier than rabbit feet. And, apparently, we're especially lucky if you, uh…." He blushed. "Nevermind, l-let's not get into that right now."

"Alright-y," she said. "Another question, if you please. How many Nargles do you see on a daily basis - here or in your world?"

"Um… none? I don't exactly know what-"

"Oh, pardon me!" She giggled. "I'm wearing my cork necklace, so I bet you haven't seen any here yet. Silly me. Although, it's better to avoid them. A crafty lot, they are."

"So, they're like that Peeves fellow, then? He keeps bothering me whenever I go for a walk."

"... Something like him." She moved on. "A few more questions, please. How old are you and where are you from? From your world, that is?"

With normal questions blooming, Bilbo straightened up. "Well, I am fifty years old, but to men, that's about… thirty-five to thirty-nine-ish? Yes, I think so. Anyway, I live in my smial in the Shire, which is in the northern bit of Middle-earth, er, my world."

"Sweet, thank you," she said. "Now, I think I've asked enough questions."

"Um, alright." It surprised him how brief the interview was. "Well, uh, do you need any cited sources or signatures or so?"

"No," she said, but perked at his offers, "although, I wouldn't mind a brief description of hobbits. Y'see, I've never heard of your people before, so I'd like to have a synopsis for future usage. The wizarding world will definitely benefit from it." She held out her notes.

"Well… a small paragraph isn't hard to write."

Balancing the notebook on his knee, he scratched done modest words, trying to keep his dangling legs still so his penmanship was legible. He wondered why she did not just ask basic questions first, then get onto her specific questions. It was rather silly. Perhaps, this was her first interview ever. Though, he did not want to judge, so he gave her the benefit of the doubt.

Halfway through, he noticed the girl gazing at his feet - not in the usual way most students did, but in an admiring way that made him shift in his chair, in a way like when his neighbors would take too much interest in his tulip garden. He made sure to add a generous description of hobbit feet for _The Quibbler_ 's sake, excluding its good omen details. He assured himself that she did not need to know the specifics.

"May I ask what your name is?" Bilbo handed back her notebook.

"Oh! I guess I haven't mentioned that yet, silly me." She tucked the notes away. "Luna Lovegood."

"Well, Miss Lovegood, it's nice to have this interview. I truly am flattered."

She giggled. "You are very polite, Mr. Baggins, and you are comfortably awkward to be around."

Whether a compliment or a kindly blunt remark, he laughed. "Thank you!"

 **-E-**

Before he left, Luna paid him: "A butterbeer cork for your troubles. Should help to keep these Nargles away. Or Peeves, but I'm not entirely sure."

Now, walking back down the corridors, Bilbo held a small smile as he fingered the cork in his pocket. Security flooded his body like he took a hearty puff of Old Toby.

So far, no ghosts had appeared, the halls were bare, and the cork began to grow his confidence tenfold. He walked with a little more sureness, a little more ease. He would not have to worry about rotten eggs again. But, just when he thought he had walked back to his and Luna's collision corner, he realized he was lost. The armor stands and paintings around him were older and less colorful than the ones he usually admired. Finer brass plates and golden picture frames. Not the same hallway.

He tucked the cork away into his pocket - it bulged like a cheek full of food since his acorn bunked with it - and surveyed the halls. They were hopelessly unrecognizable. Not the same banners or door shapes. Not even a single person dwelled here.

Although, he knew he was on the second or third floor; the window at the corridor's end showed the tips of the forests' trees outside, the negative space of clouds overhead. This told him he had to make his way back down, to find a staircase if he wanted to get to the kitchens in time for afternoon tea. He remembered Dobby saying there were going to have scones and hot sandwiches today.

With a growl in his belly, he hopped off. His hunger and the cork gave him vigor in his search, some determination to find his way back with still no worry about Peeves. He passed many paintings, ignoring their remarks, and turned many corners. All of them were not inclined down. At one point, he found a staircase only leading up.

"There's got to be a down one somewhere," he murmured.

More time passed. His growl grew. When he encountered the upward staircase again, he guessed afternoon tea was halfway over. He kicked himself for losing his way and for making Dobby be alone for tea. The idea of the house elf being alone made his heart heavy.

He kept walking circles, getting lost and finding his way back only to get lost somewhere else - he could not believe his navigation skills; perhaps the cork was bad luck - and had to stop. He had walked more the last hour than usual walking periods, and he felt it. His calves grew too heavy, so he took a break, stretching and whining to himself.

"Oh, Bilbo, you are rather ridiculous at times… can't find your way to save your life… you did better in those goblin caves than here…." He popped his shoulder and rolled it around.

When he was about to nag himself on the state of his stomach, his ears perked up: a pair of shoes tiptoeing behind him, rubbery heels pressing into the grainy stone floor. But, turning around, he saw no one. Only his unknown location and the shields hanging on the wall was insight. The noise faltered. Bilbo heard breathing close by.

"Hello?" he called out. He would have felt silly for feeling paranoid, but the blundering sounds of a big person were obvious. Someone was feet away from him. Invisible.

In his pocket, the ring rattled.

"Hello?" he said firmer. "Who's there?"

The figure did not move, its breath vanishing.

"Hello? Excuse me, but where are you?"

The temptation to slip on the ring welled inside him; whether to see the figure or escape it, desire took hold of him. It was unbearable. His hand hovered over his waistcoat.

"Hello? Please tell me how you are doing that. I know you are there, so please." Now, he felt silly. "Are you using a-a thing too? That's how I-"

"Mr. Baggins."

Bilbo spun around and saw a blond student standing close behind him with his hands behind his back. The figure was potently pale, which reflected the window's light in a moon-like way. Green and black robes hung on his frame, hanging intellectually and precisely, but his scholar looks mixed with a cunning sharpness that was rare to find.

The hobbit cleared his throat. "Uh, hello."

"You seem lost."

"Well, uh, sort of. I," he glanced at the direction of the invisible figure. "I was just trying to find my way back to the kitchens. I appear to have lost my way after a short interview with -" he looked up at the student. "What are you doing here? No one seems to be here right now… except me, that is."

With a shadow of a smirk, the boy said, "Not too many classes are here in use I suppose. This old castle has a lot of unused rooms. If I were the headmaster, I would make use of them."

"Ah, yes, thoughtful of you to think that."

The boy nodded. "Let's find our way back. You wouldn't want to run into Filch or ghosts or any other horrible monster I'm sure. There are some irresponsibly placed liabilities here. Trolls, for instance. Anyone could get hurt."

"Well, no, I wouldn't want that."

The boy took long strides toward the invisible figure, who jumped out of the way with a jerked breath. It was as audible as a shout, and Bilbo could not understand why the boy did not hear it. But, then again, big folk had terrible hearing.

Awkwardly, Bilbo whispered goodbye and followed the blond boy.

 **-E-**

"Um, are you sure this is the right way? We've been walking for quite a bit."

"Yes, Mr. Baggins, I've been at this school for longer than I've liked. I know where to go."

"Alright, sorry, I am just a little on edge. That Peeves fellow isn't one I prefer."

"Stick with me and he'll think twice about bothering you."

Bilbo glanced at the student, hopping along to keep up with his strut. It was much faster and longer than Luna's. "You mean he only bothers certain people?"

Malfoy - the name Bilbo learned to call him - tapped on his badge with a smirk. "As prefect, I get certain powers over things. Peeves would be better off targeting first years than prefects because we had direct authorities from our house-heads. Mine is Slytherin, by the way. The superior house."

He chuckled at the boy's attitude. It reminded him of the more charming side of the Sackville-Bagginses, of the few family members he could tolerate.

"Huh, I guess even Peeves needs to be careful. Couldn't imagine him getting away with pranking teachers or student-helpers for long. I just wish they would get rid of him entirely… makes me pity the first-years… unless he is somehow important to Hogwarts? Like an important figure or an artifact of some kind?"

"No, he isn't. Decisions like these make the headmaster look foolish, don't you agree?"

Bilbo drew his eyebrows together. "Uh, I wouldn't say that. There's a reason for everything."

"You," the boy said with emphasis, "are totally and completely right, Mr. Baggins."

"Ah, well, thank my father for that advise. He -" Bilbo stopped when Malfoy halted suddenly and stood still. He smiled like a serpent. It was eerie and the hobbit could not understand it, but it was not the smile that worried him - it was probably a tease to some joke he walked into - but it was the fact the boy stopped in a secluded hallway, intentionally hindering their progress. Something was amiss.

"Um, yes? What is it?"

"Everything happens for a reason, correct?"

"...Yes? What are you-"

"So, doesn't it make sense to think that something summoned you here?"

In seconds, the hallway's window grew dark once the clouds covered the sun. It grayed the stone floor and the boy's face to match - stony and abnormal with only a suggesting smile.

"I'm sorry?"

"No, never be sorry! Don't you sense it? The reason why you were summoned?"

"Are you saying I was summoned here?" Bilbo could not close his jaw. "I just… I just fell into a ravine before the elf guards - I'll tell you later - the elf guards could catch me. It truly was not mine or anyone else's doing. It… It was truly just an occurrence. Just a-"

"But, everything happens for a reason."

"Mr. Malfoy," he started, quickly disliking the satisfaction on the boy's face, "how do you even know about my-"

"One could say I know a thing or two the headmaster doesn't. I am a different sort of wizard if you could imagine." He placed a pale, acidic hand on the hobbit's shoulder. "I know a bit more about the type of magic that the headmaster doesn't get involved with. I'm knowledgable in that field."

"So -" Bilbo's ears perked up when footsteps pattered toward them "- so, excuse me, but do you know how I got here and… how I could get back? I've been so frustrated with researching about it and finding absolutely nothing. I'm sick of it," he admitted. "But, you know how? You know how I got here?"

"No, better." He smirked. "I know why."

"Could… could you tell me? Tell me that and how you know and how I can go back? I'm making no progress here, as I've said, and I might-"

"You're talking too much, Mr. Baggins. I can tell you everything, but you can never know who's listening."

Bilbo glanced at the source of the footsteps, hearing its breath stop again and footsteps freeze. "Wait, you know about it too? I thought only I could-"

"Oh, I know about him." Malfoy pulled himself away, turned around, and tried to find the figure, using a hand to search like he was caught in the dark. "He's actually a good start, wouldn't you believe? He'll be a-"

Before any else - before the invisible figure was located or before Bilbo could ask any more questions - two figures appeared. They popped up and wedge Bilbo between them. Two frames crushing his smaller one. Before Bilbo could squeak or push them off, they covered his mouth and hoisted him up. They raced off, like two people carrying a bucket of water for a field day game, and left without a trace.

A hallway passed and his struggles were useless. But, Bilbo squirmed more when he saw his kidnappers had red hair and freckles; this did not assure him. With a small chuckle and whine, he tried to kick harder out of their grip. They were just like Fili and Kili. And, like them, their actions were not innocent. (For instance, last time he met them they had attacked him with a bucket full of confetti, daisies, and glitter. It was better than rotten eggs and it gave him a laugh, but his allergies were not impressed.)

He attempted to wiggle out of their hold.

"Stop that, squirt. We're tryin' to save your arse."

"Fred is right, now just stop that-"

"No, stop it."

"Lil' bloke, c'mon."

"He's not stopping, George."

"I know. Now, be a good lil' hobbit and - no, no, you stop kicking Fred like that 'cause it gives us a perfect reason to - What? No, don't-"

They turned a corner and flicked Bilbo on the nose.

Another hallway passed.

"George."

"Yeah, I know."

"No, I mean he's not stopping. He's-"

"I know! Shut up! This is a stealth mission, remember?"

"Wait."

"What?"

"Oh shoot, they've seen us."

Bilbo could not see what they were escaping. His vision wavered with the rhythm of their ungraceful running; everything was a shmear of a wet watercolor painting, dripping and dizzying. He could not tell where they were going, only that two fat figures chased them unsuccessfully. It was comical to hear their heavy steps. Although, George and Fred seemed more concerned with Malfoy, who ran with fire in his step.

Bilbo had no idea what was going on.

After longer than he liked - a marathon of cursing and running - he found himself leaning against a wall of an abandoned classroom, trying to reclaim his wits from that ordeal. It shook him up more than he realized. Meanwhile, the twins peeked out the door to see if the hallways were safe again, murmuring to each other and rolling their wrists from their load.

"What," Bilbo breathed. "What… What on earth were you two trying to accomplish? I was just-"

They appeared in front of him. Another nose flick.

"Hey! Don't do-"

One more nose flick, then the twins knelt down to read his face.

"Just so we're all crystal clear, Bill, it was awfully dumb of you to be near that bloke. He's no good, couldn't you tell?"

"You're lucky we found you or else you would've been brainwashed."

Bilbo frowned and rubbed his nose. "What do you mean by that? He was telling me that he knew why I was here and maybe how I could-"

"That's what all solicitors say to reel you in, don't you know? You've had those salesmen before, right?"

"Remember when that one guy tried to sell us spoons that can be polished by themselves? A waste of sickles if you ask me."

"Yes, think of the spoons, Bill. Malfoy was just tryna get your attention, y'know, and blow some smoke up your-"

"George, we have a polite audience!" Fred laughed, and Bilbo tried not to give them the satisfaction of laughing himself.

"B-but, anyway," the hobbit cleared his throat. "He was telling me he knew things about my situation and-"

"Oh, he doesn't. He really truly doesn't."

"Seriously, it's laughable how much he doesn't know."

"B-but-"

"Now, where is Harry?" Fred said and poked his head out the door again. "He's the one to call us here and now he's ditchin'? What a guy."

"Probably got caught. I bet a galleon it was Filch. Double-door's been very careful with him and our lil' fellow. Like, there's always a teacher around when you don't need one, right?"

"It's always been like that."

"No, I mean with just Harry or just Bill, not us. We're a couple o' sly gents, so we need to pass on our slyness to them - Oi, where are you goin'?"

They grabbed him before he could slip ouside, before he could take advantage of the cracked door and speed out. The moment the ground left his feet, he squeaked.

"Don't think you can just get away from us, ya lil' troublemaker. Us troublemakers need to stick together."

"Yeah, but stay away from Malfoy. He's the nutty troublemaker. You don't want that, Bill."

"Now, what did you tell him? -" in a few steps, they lifted him onto a stack of chairs, sitting nearly eye-level with them "- 'cause if it's bad, then you need to stay away from him even more so if you get my meaning."

The hobbit did not like this interrogation chair, but he squared up and decided he needed some answers too. "No, I don't understand. So, what do you mean by that? You two and your friend obviously don't like him, but why does that have to do with me?"

"Just that some people at this school are complete scumbags. So, you need to protect yourself by staying away from them and letting us take care of it. It'll be better for everyone this way, Bill."

"Oh, Bill! Why do you keep calling me that?"

"Our brother in Egypt, remember? We told you this some time ago - anyway, what did Malfoy want from you? Not your autograph, I'm sure. Did he ask for anything about-"

"Shush, Fred," George said and put a finger to his lips. "Hear that?"

It did not take any strain for Bilbo to hear it: the movement of individuals in the hallway. "Well, yes, I can, but I don't think it's the people after you two. It sounds more like-"

"Wait, you can hear it?" the twins asked together.

"Uh, yeah? I'm a hobbit, so-"

"Perfect, what are they saying?"

"Uh…" Bilbo swallowed. "Just about classes - potions, that's interesting - and about some girls."

They looked at him in amazement, exchanging glances with each other.

"Bloody hell, Fred, he's good!"

"I couldn't even hear what you were goin' on about at first, but man! And from all the way here too. That's mad!"

"Better than our ear trick, that's for sure."

"Think we can get him to help prank McGonagall again?"

Bilbo groaned when they pressed him for more answers, demanding to know what other abilities hobbits had, if he could assist them with tasks, and scrap information about Malfoy. He was there on that stacked chair in the abandoned classroom with a growling stomach for a long time.

 **-E-**

 **Hopefully, I get another chapter up before too long, but we'll see what life does! But, please help me out and like and follow this fic! I would love reviews on how I can get better, whether word-crafting or the plot points. I would love to here what you guys think!**

 **Have a golly good day!**


	6. Report

**Hello! How are you?**

 **Things are getting crazy in my part of the world. Tests, try-outs, and the like. It's all pretty stressful, but what's life without it? Hopefully, although, I can squeeze a few more chapters out regardless. We'll see though. I will probably finish A Taste for a Hobbit before post another chapter here, but, again, we'll see.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **-E-**

"When he yelled at Professor Umbridge…."

"Did you hear what he said…?"

"... Don't get me wrong. It serves her right, but I don't think…."

"Usually, that's exactly what he would do since…."

"He must be lying…."

He could not take it anymore. He turned back toward the table, where the supper plates vanished and his peers' shadows thinned, drifting toward the mouth of the Great Halls. Their conversations were too much to bear. He had hoped to catch more information about Mr. Baggins - trying to pull details to craft a fuller picture of him - but that well dried up. Talk went on to last year: the Triwizard Tournaments, the Dark Lord, and Cedric Diggory. The hobbit was only a distraction from hotter gossip, apparently.

To block out the noise, Harry returned to scanning the Marauders' Map. For the last half hour, after Hermione had pointed out the absence of the headmaster and the hobbit, he and Ron had hunched over the map and had glued their eyes on Dumbledore's office. Two pairs of feet walked lines. From then on, nothing changed; the feet paced excessively. Dots muddied the parchment. Occasionally, a pair would stop and face the other. A few minutes would pass until it would resume pacing. But, the more the cycle continued, the more Harry wished something would happen like the hobbit would attack Dumbledore and expose his intentions or Dumbledore would figure out his schemes before anything could happen. Whatever came to be, Harry hoped for it.

"Man, they sure love to pace, huh? Must have a lot in common," Fred said at Harry's side. "Explains why they're fast friends."

"Fast friends," he scoffed. "That's exactly what Voldemort's henchman would want."

"So, you still think that lil' fellow's a hench?" George fiddled with a chocolate frog card. "It's awfully far-fetched, ain't it?"

"The only thing far-fetched is his facade." Harry glared at the dots. "From a different world? Unable to go back? Seriously, what does he take any of us for? Magic is magic, so he can't be too far away from wizard mag- which he does have, by the way! He has more than I first thought. I felt it yesterday, actually, when I was behind him in the hallways. It was intense, like, more so than when the thing's up there with the professors. It was like last… well, when I was, um…." He wanted to describe the effect Voldemort had on him the last year, when he was face to face with the Dark Lord and could not deny the hissing pain that followed, but stopped; there were still a few lingering people in the Great Halls. "Anyway, I mean that Mr. Baggins - or so we call him - must be using his magic to be here and to carry out his scheme. It makes sense since he's researching so much - Oh, Hermione's seen him there a lot, George. It explains his notebook rather well. So, y'know, he's trying to know his enemy… which will come about being Dumbledore or some Aurora, I'm guessing."

"But, if he is still from our world and doesn't know basic wizarding, how does that make sense?" Fred asked with a shadowing smile.

Harry shook his head. "Tactics? A cover? Or maybe… wait," he paused. "Wait, maybe he is from a different world, but he traveled to this one to do… something."

"Something Dark Lord-related?"

"Exactly. Mr. Baggins must be trying to find him or… trying to find another dark, powerful wizard to join forces with or something."

"Great. Our little candy moocher is actually a dark lord."

"Moocher indeed," George said. "We gave him a bag of candy - the normal stuff, mind you - just to keep him happy with us because he was _not_ when we kinda snatched him up yesterday. It was hilarious, but he might spare us from his wrath if we give him some more-"

"Shut it, George," Harry snapped. "This is more than anything Dumbledore has so far."

"Bold of you to think that."

"I know." He ignored Hermione, who threw a number of dirty looks at him. "I know for a fact that Dumbledore is putting him on hold. If he's putting me on hold, then he has to be with the hobbit because he's 'too busy'. Bet he won't actually deal with him until the end of the year."

"What do you think Double-Door's doing, then? Playing wizard chess?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "He's elsewhere - anyway, from what we heard yesterday, Malfoy's onto the hobbit too. He must've heard from his dad or someone to get him to their side. With power like that, who knows what they'll do." At this point, Harry knew Lucius Malfoy was a prominent death-eater, not a weak link in the clad. As much as it was satisfying to know, it worried him. What would happen if the death-eaters have access to the hobbit's power? Better yet, was the hobbit already a death-eater?

"Makes sense why Malfoy was keeping him interested, then," Ron said, glancing up from the map.

"Yeah. But, we can't have that. Dumbledore might wanna keep him away from me, but we need to keep him away from Malfoy. If they start talking, they'll cause trouble." Harry twitched a smile. "Thanks again for the map, Fred, George. That'll make that chore easier."

"'Course, Harry."

For several minutes, Harry rested his voice while the others processed his theories. Soon, he took notice of the two pairs of feet retiring to the office desk, sitting across from each other. They were probably eating their supper, he thought and gagged at the idea - the idea of the hobbit perfectly constructing a mask to fool the headmaster into thinking he was harmless. An ideal Facade. Just what exactly was he planning to do? Why was Dumbledore not taking action?

"You guys," Harry looked between the twins, who flicked pieces of paper at Ron. "You guys don't remember anything else he and Malfoy talked about? Anything at all?"

"Other than Malfoy buttering him up with false nothings, then nada," they said.

He winced. "Nothing about Voldemort or Dumbledore or anyone?"

"Nope."

"What about anything abnormal?"

Fred shrugged. "The only thing we really learned was that hobbits have terrific hearing. Seriously, he makes our eavesdropping-ear seem deaf. In fact, we're gonna ask him to help us with some stuff next time we see him. We've been meaning to get either Snape or-"

"No, no, you can't do that," Harry said frustratedly. "Don't even think about it. That is the worst thing you two could literally do… Though, it was even worse that you guys didn't get more outta him. You should've really kidnapped and tied him up like you promised. He might've even fessed up about his plans… He seems like an easy interrogation if you do it right."

"Harry!" Hermione gawked.

The twins looked at each other without smirks, without usual character.

"Harry," George started first. "When Fred told me you needed some beef from him, we thought like… well, like keeping him talking and asking questions. Maybe shakin' him up for fun, but not… y'know."

"Not frying him," Fred said.

"But, this is serious!" Harry hissed, his jaw tightening and veins burning. "We don't know what that thing is capable of! We need to play it safe until we know how to get rid of him-"

"Harry!" Hermione frowned. "We don't know everything! Assuming anything without all the facts is a wrong move. It's hardly been a week. And Dumbledore will know what to do after he's had enough time to-"

"He's not doing anything! If he actually took this dark magic seriously, he'd have that thing contained and-"

"We don't know all the facts-"

"If any of you took this dark magic seriously, you'd be helping me!"

"How? We're not going to batter him over the head!" She took a breath, putting away the volume in her voice. "But… Harry, but how can we help? We aren't against you."

Harry swallowed the fire threatening to scorch everyone. "You all can start by staying the bloody hell away from him."

Hermione looked to Ron for support, but he only muttered weak reasoning, pointing out the footprints in Dumbledore's office and how they were pacing again.

"Well, that's true," she said. "It's, uh, smart not to run up to him and start interrogating him all willy-nilly. But, I can be discreet in the library? I see him there almost every day so I could probably ask him some questions then-"

"No good, that's too dangerous."

"Well, what-"

"Just notice what he's doing and what kind of books he's looking at. That'll help, I'm sure."

Hermione sighed. "Alright, fine, I guess I'll just be secretive about it. I guess it is safer that way."

"Odd of you to finally figure that out."

She narrowed her eyes. "Harry."

"The only thing that's really going to help anything is for me to find proof," he went on. "I can sense he's dangerous, so I can use that to keep myself and you all safe too. Fred, George, don't confront him about it. Just keep him talking. Ron - Ron, I don't care if they're still pacing - you and Hermione can help at a distance. Stay out of it," he articulated, "and keep your ears open. I can be invisible, but I can't be everywhere at once - actually, do you still have that Time-Turner?"

Hermione shook her head and pretended to study the map intently. "I gave it back to Professor McGonagall."  
"Could you get it back?"

"No."

"How do you know?"

"Harry," she looked up and matched his returning heat. "I'm afraid it won't solve anything. It would be good to know, yes, but it won't solve the little man's problem or our problems here, so-"

"But, y'know what?" Harry seethed, the fire returning. "It literally doesn't matter what he says about himself or about his problem or anything. He isn't what he says, don't you see? It's nothing - nothing! - to do with fixing his problem or whatever, but stopping his magic from causing any harm. That's the whole point! I-I…." He refused to admit his breeding fear. It became harder and harder to distinguish the hobbit's magic from the Dark Lord's. In his mind, they were the same thing, the same foreboding figure capable of complete destruction. Only one was closer. "We just need to be careful, keep an eye on him, and stop whatever it is he's really trying to do. And-and I know none of you can sense it, but I can. He's evil, but none of you can see it. Don't you believe me?" He frowned at their silence. "Don't you believe me!"

No one could meet his eye, no one could rebuttal him with the same knowledge of dark magic. It was only Hermione, who tried to murmur a response - one flimsy and hesitant - but he did not seem to care anymore.

"None of you understand," Harry continued with a cooling, stony voice. "We need to keep that bloody thing away from Malfoy - that's the best course right now - and figure out how to get rid of him or convince Dumbledore to contain him better. Having that thing run around is literally the stupidest thing he has ever done."

"Hey, Harry," Ron said timidly, "they're leaving."

On the map, the feet headed slowly toward the door, probably saying their farewells in an overly polite way.

"So, they are," Harry said. "I guess I'll see if I can - no, wait, there's Flitwick coming along to escort him. Dumbledore must know that I… nevermind." He looked over at Ron as if he had caused the hindrance. "Since that's no longer an option, how about we just sneak into the thing's room and look for his notebook. That's sure to have something worth knowing. Perhaps he was smart evough to take notes in their little meeting or whatever-"

"'Ullo, have any of you seen any Nargles?"

"Oh, Luna!" Hermione said in a high, shaky voice. "Um, hi, how are you doing?"

Harry glanced up at Luna and noticed there were five more corks on the end of her necklace, dangling in front of her blue and black robes. With an addition to her laid-back features, she appeared to be chewing some sort of toffee in the crook of her cheek, moving her jaw slowly like she was being careful to only chew with one tooth.

Everyone was uncomfortably quiet as she said, "I'm well, thanks, just checking the tables for any Nargles."

"Oh, that's nice." Hermione nodded awkwardly. "How's it going?"

"Well, we all should be happy to know that none are present. None hiding around here or causing any mischief. Perhaps it's the dispersion of corks that works best instead of…." She pondered for a moment. "I guess so. Anyway, that's not why I'm here - well, partly, but not quite."

"Well, what is it?" Harry asked. "Luna, we're a bit busy right now and-"

"I'm conducting an informal survey," she said. "Have you or anyone you know experienced more luck within the last week? If so, what was the experience and how did it make you feel?"

No one said anything as Harry dismissed her. "There hasn't been any of that. In fact, quite the opposite. How about you ask Neville? He'd be interested."

"Well, that's no good." Luna jaw stretched and contracted slowly. "Because I've noticed a lot over the last week. For instance, I've been having a great time in my classes so far, I've found another interesting topic for _The Quibbler_ , and I haven't been bothered by Peeves in a decent amount of time… I'll need to thank him for that. And actually-"

"Luna," Harry sighed.

"-Actually, I think I'll bother him tomorrow. Hermione -" she swallowed her toffee and fiddled with the wrapper in her pocket "- I overheard you saying that you wanted to meet him or something along the lines of that. You can come with me if you'd like."

"Oh, uh," Hermione flickered her eyes back and forth between Luna's relaxed face to Harry's steaming one. "I-I think maybe not… I'll probably be too busy with OWLS studying."

"Ah, that's sad. He's a very nice person to get to know. Very relatable too. Not at all evil."

"Luna," Harry stood up to meet her eyes. "Do you mean the hobbit?"

"Well, of course. Isn't he the one that you were talking about?"

It infuriated him how casual she was about it. He cleared his tight voice and said, "Why were you eavesdropping, anyway? That's rude to do."

"I wasn't. I was over there -" she pointed to the other side of the room "- you all were just talking too loudly."

"Well, what did you say to him?"

"Hm?"

"Luna, what did you say to him? What did he say back?"

"Harry, you're being a bit too loud. Anyone can hear."

George and Fred looked at each other with soft chuckles while Harry felt his anger multiply.

"Fine, sit down, then. I need to know." Harry scooted over for her, nearly ramming Fred off his seat, and checked to see if anyone else was listening in. Perhaps theorizing in the Great Halls was not wise.

Before she could smooth her robes and fix her necklace, Harry attacked: "What makes you think he isn't?"

"Isn't what?"

"Evil. What makes you so certain he isn't?"

"That a funny question." She smiled.

"Luna, I'm serious."

"Well -" she glanced at Hermione, Ron, Fred, and George, whose faces were still withdrawn "- I had an interview with him the other day because I wanted to feature him in _The Quibbler_ \- I told you about it, remember? - and he was very nice about it. I gave him a cork afterward as thanks and he was the first person I gave it too who was grateful for it-"

"Anyone can act," Harry said.

"I don't think he was. He was genuine about it. In fact, today in the kitchens, while I was looking for more butterbeer corks - the elves drink a number of those drinks, actually - he was there and said hello to me first. It was a nice treat, y' know, being said hello to first, and-"

"Anyone can say hello." Harry frowned at the map; only one pair of feet remained pacing. "Luna, he's only been here a week, so we can't possibly know what he's really like until more time comes. Assuming anything so far is a wrong move. But, I know that-"

"Harry?" She gazed at him. "Isn't that what Hermione said earlier?"

The twins covered their mouths and shook.

Harry felt a prickle of heat rise into his face, but he kept his jaw firm. He studied Luna for a moment, seeing her darkly moist corks drying from earlier use, and said, "Well, what did you say to him? What did he tell you?"

"Hm? Oh, just some basic things."

Harry glared at her.

"The article should be out in a week from now. All the details are in there."

"Can you tell me what he said?"

"All quotes are in the article. I have quite forgotten exactly what he said… but I do remember him saying that hobbits are good luck."

"Good luck?" he breathed. He was getting a headache from all the heat in his face.

"Yeah, since he mentioned it, I noticed fewer Nargles causing mischief. All of my socks are still in their drawer, so that's evidence within itself. I'll have to thank Bilbo for helping me keep them away."

"Not like he would actually choose to," Harry said hotly. "It's just apart of his facade. He doesn't actually believe in Nargles, y'know. He just wants to be on everyone's good side."

"No, I don't think so. He isn't so skeptical like other people I talk to. He's very easy to chat with-"

"Only 'cause he doesn't know left or right in this place. He's a dangerous little idiot like that."

Before Hermione could find her voice, Luna said, "Isn't that what they're saying about you, Harry?"

The amplification of annoyance on Luna's face made Harry flinch. He had never seen her even a little upset before, but the soft aggression woven in her face seemed worse than any glare Snape could give, even if it was only a faint frown. He did not know what to say, what to defend himself with, or how to convince her of the painful effects the hobbit caused his scar. Did she really not believe him?

"I like Bilbo," she stated. "He reminds me of my dad in some aspects. You all should take some time to get to know him too. I'm sure he'll share his toffees with you too. He gave me a whole handful in the kitchens." Luna held up the paper wrapper.

"I knew those were familiar!" Fred said, his grin restored. "Glad to see he's a generous moocher."

"Wha- no!" Harry huffed. "He's the source of the ripple. He's not safe to be-"

"Y'know, I actually agree with Looney," George announced. "He's an easy bloke to tease. Reminds us of Bill, actually."

"Bill?" Ron asked. "Really?"

"Not surprisingly. It's rather fitting."

A thought struck Harry: they do not believe him because they cannot feel the magic energy like he could, but this meant they would cling to their own knowledge and disregard his. They could only see the hobbit's exterior, unable to sense his toxic interior - blinded and ignorant. They did not believe him like how nobody believed Voldemort was back. His scar began to pulse.

When Ron whispered into Hermione's ear and made her giggle, he snatched the map away and stormed off. He felt everyone's eyes on his back until he flew around the doors. He heard footsteps behind him; he ran.

He was tired of being called a liar.

 **-E-**

Bilbo could not sleep that night. His head burned with unresolved questions and theories, swirling in his mind and flashing unattainable solutions. The small meeting with the headmaster may be a weekly ritual to check each others' progress, but it had only increased Bilbo's anxiety; the dwarves were still in trouble. How long would it be until he found a solution, got back, and saved them? Was it already too late? Where was Gandalf?

He hated how these were the same questions from the beginning of the week.

Overthinking always made the bed uncomfortable. So, for many hours, Bilbo stayed up and paced about his room. Although, the headmaster probably did the same; they both shared that quirk. Walking around the room, pausing to look out the window's silvery night sky, moving over to review notes on the desk, walking a few more circles, standing in front of the hearth, trying to voice aloud a few ideas, sighing, and starting all over again. It all started to feel hopeless.

He was growing desperate.

 **-E-**

 **Have a golly good day! (Don't forget to like and review! I love me some good, constructive feedback!)**


	7. Quantum Theory

**Hello! How are you?**

 **It has been a little while since I've posted on this story, but my AP Biology final is** ** _final_** **ly finished! (It's over... It's done...) And, now that it is done, I can add a little more time to building up the climax to this piece. I am excited to write it. It's gonna be tense!**

 **Enjoy!**

 **-E-**

Not surprisingly, within the first couple days of Bilbo's arrival, Filius Flitwick approached him.

"I couldn't help but notice you down the table, Mr. Baggins. It's not every day I see another half-goblin."

Bilbo had to keep himself from spluttering. "Half-goblin? I think not, sir. I'm a hobbit."

"Yes, that's what Albus said, and yet I would say otherwise!"

It was a strange start, but that was how the two of them began to have meals together, elbow to elbow, discussing the differences between goblins and hobbits with a slight touch of heat. Filius was appalled and intrigued by Bilbo's account of goblins; it took several lunches for all his questions to be answered and for Bilbo to fully establish his identity.

Pretty soon, they acknowledged the obvious: it was refreshing to speak to someone without having to crank your neck up. It was nice to not feel so small all the time. Bilbo expressed his awkward times traveling with big folk for the last several months; more often than not, they would tease him about his short legs, trip over him if they were not paying attention, point out that he could pass off as an underaged dwarf, or pick him up and swing him around like a plaything - not all the time, more often than he liked. It was exhausting to put up with, they both understood.

It did not take long for Filius to invite him over for tea. And it did not take long for Bilbo to learn this: his office was the most comfortable room in all of Hogwarts.

The chairs were perfectly sized; he never needed to strain himself looking over the desk. The teacups, plates, spoons, and even the biscuits Filius provided were easy to handle, not ungraceful to hold or to use. It was a cozy, stress-relieving place. It was like this room was a piece of the Shire - a studious, intellectual piece of the Shire. Although, the best improvements from home were the stacks and stacks of books. These were the only big-sized items allowed, but Bilbo did not care; the book stacks impressed him more than the company's beard braids.

"What do you mean you only have a small library?" Filius gawked. "You seem to be the type of aristocrat to have several libraries, judging by the description of your Smial."

"My inheritance can only afford so much, I'm afraid. It's sad, but, when almost nobody in the Shire reads, they are rarer to come by than diamonds. And, even if I go shopping in Bree, they limit me because they're hard to reproduce."

"What a nightmare! How do you cope?"

"With gritted teeth, that's for sure!"

Of course, they had refreshing conversations about literature, something they both were starved for. Neither of them encountered someone like the other, someone with a special understanding between them. They would walk off with new perspectives, new questions, and a list of new books to read. Always refreshed and relaxed.

Teatime became religious. There were always discussions to throw around, questions to debate. A lot of these sessions helped Bilbo in navigating his research. If it were not for Filius, he would not have known what a muggle was, the difference between a charm and a hex, and what types of dragons lived around Hogwarts. He felt silly not knowing these basic things earlier, but Filius held no judgment.

Although, the most interesting, non-magical, non-research orientated thing they talked about was a type of pastry.

"We have nothing like this back home," Bilbo had said with big eyes, finishing up his third sweet. "Not the shape or style or even the flavor! What is it?"

"Why, cupcakes, of course. These ones are vanilla buttercream."

"Vanilla." It quickly became a romantic word. "This is my new favorite, and that's saying a lot!"

Now, whenever he visited the kitchens, he would ask Dobby if he happened to have any cupcakes handy. And, soon - what flattered Bilbo - there was a sudden overproduction of them. Vanilla, raspberry, lemon, and almond. They were all mouthwatering, yet vanilla permanently embedded itself into his heart and he became determined to find the plant's seeds. The Shire needed it as much as the dwarves needed rescue.

Although, Bilbo and Filius had not limited themselves to tea. The professor invited him to the choir rehearsal - a handful of talented students armed with in-tune frogs. Not a single cent off. The hobbit attended a number of rehearsals, sitting in the back of the Great Halls, admiring the unity of the choir, clapping only after Filius' cut-offs. He wondered if he clapped too often and too much - too obnoxiously or distractingly - but, when he had asked, Filius was flattered.

"It's always nice to have an audience," he explained with passion. "Most students would rather see the Quidditch practices, which I do not blame them for. I do enjoy the sport too. But, it's nice to be remembered."

Soon, emerging from their strengthening friendship came deeper book insights. A topic with some weight. They abandoned the nice tales and moved on to the deep, disgruntling, devastating reads. Books for the deep-thinker. They shared impressions and thoughts, connecting all of the back to philosophy and magic. It made tea into a vulnerable period, but in a connected way, a way they had not felt in a long time. It was a time in their day where monologues turned into duets.

But, even reaching that level of connection, it had shocked and delighted Bilbo when Filius had mentioned one time, "To tell the truth, I always believed Severus Snape to be a witty, but painfully awkward man. He almost never approaches strangers unless he has to, and even then it is horrific to spectate!"

"That was the exact same impression I got!"

It became another thing they could relate to: it was proper to be polite, but you can only put up with people for so long. They shared humorous moments they had witnessed, like the eyebrow-raising character of a past teacher - Professor Lockheart, if Bilbo remembered correctly. Though, most of their talk was not harsh; Filius liked to remember others' past deeds and highlight their character. Particularly, he had mentioned about a half-giant, Rubis Hagrid, and described his enormous build, height, and heart.

"Sounds to me like he's a friendly giant!"

All of this - their friendship - came just a little after Bilbo appeared in this world. Perhaps it was a resilient bond or perhaps their friendship was a spring shower - quickly to come, quickly to leave. But, Bilbo liked to think it was fast because they were, "two peas in a pod." The thought was touching, but he had to look past the cliche to enjoy it.

"How about otherworldly doppelgangers, instead?" Bilbo asked one day. "I saw that term in the scroll you lent."

"... I like that, but, if you'll humor me, I was thinking of two halves of the same man."

Bilbo spat his tea out laughing.

 **-E-**

On Tuesday, lunch in Filius' office was gray. The tea went cold before either of them had the notion to sip it. They had their heads down, fingers fiddling with spoons or paper scraps, and paid no attention to the books each had brought for recommendations. It was like they both came back from a funeral, an exhausting and washed out one.

"Did you hear about the autobiography about a witch with DID? She can use magic in one personality and not another?"

"Uh, no, I haven't. I'll look that up…."

Bilbo decided this was no way to have lunch. The weight was too much to ignore. He sighed a brick load before asking, "Filius, what's wrong? You seem like you are trapped in a different world."

The professor half-heartedly shrugged, his tea sloshing over its rim. "Oh, I don't know. It's nothing too serious, really, just life and all its cards. Nothing extreme, but…." He drank deeply, catching the prying, good-meaning look in Bilbo's eyes. "Well, only 'cause you asked, you nosey thing. I guess it was more of an attack of one's pride than anything else. She came in just last class and took a chunk out of my confidence, really."

"Filius, who?"

"The Hogwarts High Inquisitor, apparently."

"A what?"

"Good question."

They both sampled the vanilla pudding, but it had lost its savor, its unique tang they had enjoyed the previous week.

"Well," Bilbo continued, "what did she do, might I ask?"

"Just what a high inquisitor would do. Evaluate and grade teachers." He set down his spoon. "I had a simple class with the first years - probably the most exciting class I have - and she came in, told me that she will be in the back and spectate, and I thought nothing of it. We would have evaluations like this every so often. But, they usually go well and -" Filius loosened his face and exposed his turmoil "- and she just kept butting in! Please excuse my tone, but she really tried my patience for a while!"

It surprised him how the professor's energy had only been skin-deep away from leaking.

"Sounds terrible!"

"T'was! She kept interrupting my lesson and pointed out all the details I missed - which I haven't! - and what I should instruct my class with next - which I have already thought out, thanks - and all in front of that class and the next!" He huffed. "Her little, passive-aggressive cough will be in my mind for the next twelve days, I'm sure!"

"Oh, that's the worst, my friend." Back in the Shire, when Lobelia was still a Bracegirdle, she had liked to pull that trick on friends and neighbors when they were not abiding her advice. Bilbo had suffered it countless times, especially when he had been forced to attend family reunions with her. A little cough here or a sly remark there. "I understand that fully, my friend."

"Oh!" Filius leaned back and rubbed his face. "Reminds me perfectly of a teacher I use to have when I was a student… always ready to take apart some poor soul with a correction or so… I guess there's always one in each generation."

"No doubt. I may not have met the inquisitor yet, but I've heard she is a bit nasty like that." Bilbo could sense his friend bit back a flood of comments. "Well, I hope she gets out of your hair sometime soon. Too much of that can drive anyone mad."

"I'm almost jealous that you get to leave here! I know I am being dramatic saying this, but I'd love to take a vacation for the rest of the year if she's here."

Bilbo's empathetic smile dropped. "Yes, well…."

"I wouldn't mind visiting your world, in fact. If that can be arranged, and if I can come back from there, I'd love to go."

"If I can find a way back."

"Hm?"

"Professor Dumbledore and I had a chat the other night ago - yes, last Saturday, remember? You were there for a bit - and I was hoping that we were onto something concerning my situation. But… not quite. Neither of us had any new ideas or anything worth trying. He's been busy, as I understand, and my situation is not improving a bit. It's becoming dire."

"Oh, Bilbo, don't say that."

"But, it's true!" He chewed the inside of his cheek. "I've dug as much as I could about magic and worlds and dragons and such, but nothing! What if I'm doing it all wrong? What if I can't go back?"

Filius considered this, his eyes resting thoughtfully on the desk. "Heavy questions, my friend. But, by wrong, I think you mean… searching in the wrong book?" He paused. "Yes, I think that's your problem."

"What do you mean? I've been privileged enough to go through Hogwarts' library for anything-"

He snapped his fingers and grinned. "Yes, but you have barely searched in mine! We've only scratched the tip of the iceberg."

"Iceberg?"

Filius jumped from his chair - a renewed vigor in his step - and began to search his bookshelves. Bilbo spluttered as he pulled out books with foreign titles. "You mean there are more volumes? I thought they were just extra copies!"

"The students' library is perfect for textbook-reading, but I like to think of mine as a knowledgeable archive for the serious thinker.

"You can borrow any book in this room, my friend! It's the best I can offer at this - Oh, maybe not the ones around my desk. I've been needing to read them myself - but anything else that you think you'll need!"

Bilbo felt silly. "Guess I was being a bit of a dramatic there! But, it makes me wonder how many books have actually been written here - actually, how many people even live in this world?" The population of this world began to intimidate him, but he pushed it off for now.

With a step stool, he began to inspect the insides of the oak bookshelves, which stood stoically like guards in a king's court. On each shelf, books squeezed themselves together, huddled together like pigeons. He grew jealous that Filius had this problem, so much so that not all of his books could live on a shelf. Perhaps he could buy some books from him to take back home.

His eyes skimmed the spines.

 _Herald and the Yeti's Wedding._

 _Homing in on Magical Properties._

 _How to Properly Store Potions._

Some of the books were veiled in an inch of dust as if the covers were made of rabbit pelts. They had fingerprints on them, so Filius must read them occasionally, but never remembering to dust them. He had to wipe it off, sneeze, and continue.

 _Locomotives in the Muggle World._

 _Lollipops and Lizards: Book Five._

 _Lunatics Hidden in Plain Sight._

After some time, once Bilbo collected a volume about taming dragons - _So, You Find Yourself In Trouble_ \- he noticed the books Filius collected for him; there were at least six, two-inch thick books, all in faded colors with abused spines. The pile dwarfed his own by a large margin.

Suddenly, Bilbo's eye caught something: _The Secret Ingredient is Magic. This book combines the flavor of homemade cooking and the magic of the individual, the ultimate resource for every wizard's perfect dinner party._

"Excuse me?" Bilbo asked. "Do you think I could borrow this for a while? This may be important."

"Didn't you say hobbits were muggles?"

"... It doesn't hurt to try."

"True that." Filius jumped down and plopped onto a stack of books. It was so tall that Bilbo almost made eye level with him. "Now, how about you look at these? I'm sure a few of these you haven't touched yet… although, there is still a volume or two that I'd recommend, but I can't find it at the moment… but, how are these for now?"

"Well, I hate to say it," Bilbo said after he glanced at the covers, "but I've already peeked at these - well, I still need to read _Hogwarts, A History_ , but I don't think that will help much."

"Oh, you never know! Besides, it might explain why you came here of all places in the first place."

"Alright," he sighed, reluctantly accepting the book into his stack. "I guess I'm just worn from reading so. It's a dream come true to have access to such remarkable libraries - You know the state of my poor collection - but I guess what I really need is a break from all that."  
"Then, take a break."

"But… then I won't be making any progress."

"Then read."

"But, then I can't concentrate as well-"

"Oh, you worrying wart! Too much running will wear you thin!"

Even though he knew the truth in Filius' words, he could not calm the smolder of stress building up in his chest, the slow burn sizzling his insides like acid. He could not push off the dwarves - he could not deny how much he missed them - or the fact that Gandalf was nowhere to be found, away and unable to help. What was he supposed to achieve here? What was he missing?  
"If I were you," Filius said and crossed his arms, "I would relax with a nice bath - It does me well on hard days - and take a walk, as in a walk from the mind. I can see an entire kilo away that your only adding to your stress. My students do this more often than I'd like."

Bilbo frowned to himself. "True, I've always been a worrier. But..."

"Perhaps you need a break. And, hey, what if you don't need to read a book to find a way back? What if you just appear back like how you did here?"

"True..."

It bothered him how he could not make up his mind. Did he need new books or did he need a break? Either would fry his mind. Where was Gandalf when he needed him?

"I'm dreadfully sorry to bother you with all of this. I am worrying too much, but it's killing me from the inside out."

"Oh, Bilbo, it's okay." Filius hopped off the book stack and faced him. "I'd be doing the exact same thing If I were in your shoes - er, your feet."

They laughed a little; Bilbo had the wit to say, "Another reason why I think Snape doesn't care for me!"

"Perhaps! But, seriously," Filius said with a smile," I believe you need a walk from your head, maybe a relaxing bath, and something that helps you unwind. Stress may just be your downfall, my friend."

"True, but easier said than done. And yet," he began, "I do think the thing to really, truly help would be someone who knows my problem."

"Ah, perhaps you need to find them on a walk? Think of it that way and maybe you can relax, yes?"

"True… maybe I could find-"

A thought: where was Malfoy?

Bilbo's face relaxed. "Oh, I remember now."

The boy had claimed to know how and why he was here, a bright wizard with magical knowledge that few possess. And, he argued, he did seem like he knew what he was talking about, seemed to be able to assist him. Bilbo had failed to mention him to Dumbledore, forgetting to ask if the boy could help him, but he assured himself it was fine. It was not like he could not ask for help from others at Hogwarts. He would be a hypocrite for refusing student interaction after his article interview the other day.

"Actually, I think a bath and a walk would help greatly. I'll try that." Bilbo tried to scrap his brain for any hint where the boy might be. "Yes, I think I'll try that."

"Alright, then," Filius said. "I'm glad to persuade you into something useful, even though it was a bit of a hustle, you worry wart!"

"Oh, what a burden I am. Must drive you all mad that I'm stuck here."

"The reason we want to send you home as quickly as possible."

They laughed, their smiles perking brightly after their long day of glooming. Now, the air settled back into the atmosphere from last week: relaxed and secure. But, now, with the thought of the boy helping him, Bilbo's mind buzzed with plans and scenarios. It excited him; the boy could point him in the right direction. No more wandering through textbooks or empty theorizing. Now, hope graced his mind and set him at peace, but where was the boy?

Filius fished out his pocket watch and clicked it open. "My cue." He smiled at the hobbit. "Hope this helps you, my friend, because I must be off. And while I teach my next class, go do what you think is best. You'll get back home."

"Thank you, Filius. It means a lot to me that you help me and put up with me - and for the books!" He patted the covers in his arms, which was almost as heavy as a bundle of sticks. "As I've said, it's a dream come true. It'll be one of the most wonderful things that I'll miss when-"

"Oh!" the professor squeaked, his eyes bulging out of his sockets. "Wait!"

Within seconds, he bounced to the door, peered out of it, seeing the few students filling the desks and one lone figure, rushed back to the foot of a bookshelf, and rummaged through the stacks - the ones he previously used to reached the shelves. Books sprawled away. It happened so fast that Bilbo would have thought the professor was in a sudden, high-stress situation, as if the high inquisitor came back for another session.

"Wait-wait-wait!"

"Filius? What are-"

"Wait-wait-sorry, pardon me," he came back with a light, wheezy voice. "I just remembered where I left that book I was talking about."

"Which one?"

"This one," he pointed to the book in his arms, but Bilbo gawked; the book was enormous. It seemed larger than a soup pot, larger than Dwalin's ax head, and heavier than a flat of bricks.

"Uh, well, I think I am good for now, thanks. I need to pace myself and not take all of your books all at once, even though I might want to. Besides -" he glanced at the door and saw the classroom fill with black robes "- you have a class to-"

"Bilbo," Filius frowned. "This may be the most important book concerning your situation! Trust me, you need this!"

"But I-"

"No time to explain!" He almost dropped the book when he tried to give it to him. "I do think that inquisitor is already out there judging me! I have to leave!"

When Filius left, Bilbo almost collabsed at the sudden weight of the book. It made his forgotten pile, now on the floor, seem like runts. He knew better than to race after Flitwick and sincerely give it back, but he was tempted to put it back on the floor with the way his knees wobbled. But, it was the glossy cover that grabbed his eyes: _Split from the Same Spell: Magic in Regards to the Quantum Field._

Curious, he set the book on the desk and skimmed a paragraph.

 _Regardless of Knotts' conclusion, it is predicted by many wizards in the quantum field that magic may use this phenomenon like a left hand - its right being normal matter, as stated by Medlar in 'The Theory of Quantum Magic,' 1963. This makes premature studies strengthen to an ultimate theory: magic is the key to quantum manipulation, in controlling universal events, and understanding the laws of different worlds. Although a relatively new field, this theory may open another door of magical understanding. As suggested in Regel's letter (see page 467,) "... understanding this phenomenon would raise our ability exponentially… like jumping up to the steepest curve of the graph in magical evolution. It can allow access to different parts of the universe to new ones entirely… but only if we unravel the mystery first."_

The illustrations confused and intrigued him. A ball dipped into a gridded field while a wand broke the field. And, although he could not make sense of it, not even in the footnotes, he took the book, left the room through its side door, and began to prepare himself for another long night.

 **-E-**

The book was a hardcover with the smell of crisp paper. It held a lot of quality between the the first and last pages - the pictures were flawless and the word choice was appropriate - but the most unique detail was the colors of the ink; each sentence was in a different color, like brightly colored strings, to help the reader follow along. At first, Bilbo thought it was the author's signature, but it was mercy instead. The colored lines were the only reason his eyes could keep their place.

He stared at the pages for a chunk of time into the night. The only reason he knew it was late, other than the weights in his eyes and the stiffness of his face, was that no one went by in the hallway. Usually, big folk blundered about and pulled him out of his concentration, but now it seemed that he was the only one conscious in the whole castle. Everything was asleep. Everything was still. Motionless like the fire over the candle wax.

"This is hopeless," he moaned. "Why did I take this blasted thing anyway? Elvish is easier than this."

Without Filius defining terms or ideas for him, he had no clue what the text was trying to convey. Only half of the words made sense. The other half - as well as the pictures, historical figures, and experiments - was complete gibberish. There were a few scientists in Middle-earth, but this field could outmatch every wizard, oracle, or wise elf. With it being unheard of, it was impossible to wrap his mind around it; was he the first being to encounter this science?

Needing air for his brain to soak in the information, he left the room in a drunken walk.

The stone walls in the corridors held murals of shadows. It veiled most of the sleeping artworks and a half of the statues. Only the torches around every corner was enough for him to find his way back; he had spent a little time in the kitchens, visiting with the nocturnal house-elves, snacking on leftover cupcakes from last week - stale buttercream frosting and crumbly cake - and now his mind was ready for bed. The quantum book had beaten and rung him dry, and now he needed time to heal, to prepare himself for tomorrow's work, and to find Malfoy.

At this point, unless the headmaster found a solution, it seemed all hope lied with Gandalf or Malfoy. Whichever figure appeared first, Bilbo did not care.

While he walked, he noticed Filch was not lurking around. The last time Bilbo had a late night walk, the man accused him of snooping and nearly dragged him to the headmaster's office. He did not like the way the man's boney, skeleton hand gripped his shoulder, but, luckily, Dumbledore defended him, explaining politely that guests were not ruled by the students' curfew. Although, he mentioned after Filch stormed away, it would be wiser to have another teacher with him or to stay within the main corridor only. Bilbo had acknowledged this, and yet the directions seemed more like a nanny's request.

Having to follow the headmaster's guidelines, Bilbo tried to find his room quickly. It was improper not to listen to his host. Besides, he could not find the boy this late into the night; he would look tomorrow for him during lunch or after school hours.

He was about to turn the corner, but a glowing wand tip blinded him; he bounced against a large figure and fell.

"Oh, pardon me!" He winced. "I guess I was walking too fast to-"

The figure cleared her throat tightly, wiping pale frost off of her suit - a beautiful, rich pink suit with small embroideries on the sleave.

Bilbo began to panic. "Oh, I am so sorry!" He jumped from the ground. "I didn't realize I had any frosting on me, I - Oh, and on your lovely suit too - I truly am sorry, dear lady - Oh, it's not stained, is it? I always hate it when a fine attire gets soiled-"

She cleared her throat again, lowered her wand, and fixed him with a piercing glare. "Who and what are you?"

He almost choked when he saw her face. Troll-like neck rolls, a gross amount of make-up, and a unique, eye-butchering hairstyle. At first, the light protected him from the sight, but now he wished for ignorance. To make matters worse, even if she was shorter than most big folk, shorter than Thorin as well, she was frightening. She could glare down an orc if she had the chance.

"Um," he started, putting on a polite mask to cover up his amazement, "I am a guest of Dumbledore's… Bilbo Baggins?" She would not take her drilling eyes off of him. "Are-are you the high inquisitor? I, uh, saw your profile on one of the - what was it? - educational decrees."

She said nothing.

"Number twenty-three, was it?"

Before he could dare himself to see if the glare lessened, she turned away and stormed off in a huff, her pink heels violent enough to chip stone. This left him to worry if his mask had fallen off.

 **-E-**

 **Before I leave you all off on this chapter, I have to mention somethings. The part where Bilbo talks about how the Shire has no vanilla plants is true; it is canon in Tolkien's world. The Shire was based on his childhood setting, South African/English countryside. He wanted Middle-earth to have old world crops and dishes, which excluded vanilla beans, cocoa beans, and some other beans, except coffee beans. He did have certain exceptions though. And, even though cupcakes were made around the nineteenth century, they were not a big thing for him, so they were somewhat left out too. This makes this pastry extra special to Bilbo. So yeah! Mini crash course!**

 **Another thing, I like to think Harry Potter wizards do use science because it connects back to their magic. It would make sense for magical scientists to study the properties of magic and such, using it to create new spells or potions or something. I would be one of those wizards if I could!**

 **Even though I am not 100% correct about the Harry Potter book's timeline, I am a good 95% in order. I will probably speed up some events for the sake of the story's motion.**

 **Have a golly good day!**


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